


Porcelain

by GalaxyThreads



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Hela (Marvel) Is a Good Bro, Hela (Marvel) has issues, Hela (Marvel) needs a hug, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Memory Alteration, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Odin (Marvel)'s Bad Parenting, Past Mind Control, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, Redemption, References to Depression, She's learning how to be, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Whump, everyone needs sleep, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 120,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads
Summary: In a split second decision, Loki saves Hela from Surtur rather than leaving her to die. The aftermath is both so much better and far worse than anyone could have predicted. (No slash, no smut). Brother & Sister, BigSisHela! Whump!





	1. Burned Flesh Saved Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zdorovat'sya, my stars! Welcome! Thanks for taking a look at this story, hopefully you enjoy it. ;)
> 
> This was a request from GliderPilot, and I hope I do it justice. Thanks for the opportunity to write this! ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing! :)
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, mentions of past child abuse, Odin's A+ (sarcastic) parenting, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, some gore/possible injuries, mentions of past torture, depressive thoughts, and paranoia on my part. If further warnings are needed, they'll be posted at the top of the chapters. :) No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest—nothing else inappropriate. Language is all K.
> 
> Pairings: Very minor Thor/Jane, this is primarily a brother and sister fic.
> 
> For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanficion.net under the pen name of "LodestarJumper" 
> 
> Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

* * *

_"We fight every night for something,_

_When the sun sets we're [all] the same,_

_Half in the shadows,_

_Half burned in flames."_

-Tamer "Beautiful Crime" 

* * *

It's only been a few hours, but Thor _knows _when he spots the figure in the corner of the mirror that it's his younger brother. He doesn't need to see the blurred shadow turn into a proper reflection—he just _knows. _Can sense his sedir, like he has since childhood. (Another one is present as well, but he doesn't really care for that.) Loki is here, illusion or not, and that's enough. Relief slips through him at the sight, and he reaches forward to grab at a flask of something to occupy his hands with. He hadn't expected Loki to come back.

He'd _wanted _him to, of course, but he didn't think...not _really_—not after his stupid words in Sakaar—that Loki would come to him. He hadn't meant to let the vindictive snipping slip out so many times, but he's hardly been the ideal sibling since they reunited, so maybe it was to be expected.

Especially not when they finally gained some semblance of privacy and Thor punched Loki in the face. And then the ribs and elsewhere—but, Norns above, he couldn't _handle _this one more time. Six years he's been on the wrong side of Loki's planning, his scheming, and he is so _tired of it. _This is not the first time that Loki has pretended to be dead. But, before his failed coronation, Thor has almost _always _been in on it.

A part of him always knew that Loki was alive, he thinks, which is why it wasn't much of a surprise to see he claimed Hliðskjálf. It was different between the Bifrost and the Kursed. Thor had always been able to sense Loki's faint presence since the Kursed, but after the Bifrost he was just _gone. _Thor is not nearly as advanced in sedir, or even really trained, but every child is taught how to sense the presence of it.

And he knew that Loki was still there.

As he is now.

Some part of him. An illusion, he supposes; it's really better than nothing, and maybe more than he deserves after what he's done and said in the last three days. Loki has probably come to finalize their goodbyes, and Thor grips the flask tighter to brace himself. He doesn't know why he thought this was a good idea on Sakaar. Why he thought they should part ways permanently.

Only that he did, and wasn't thinking straight when he said it.

Thor's lips part, and he has to work with his tongue before he can say anything. "Maybe your not so bad—"

His voice dies.

All illusions and fantasies he'd warped up about Loki running through Surtur's fire unharmed go with it. He'd stood on the _Statesmen _and watched Surtur tear his realm apart without even thinking _twice _about what would happen to Loki. His brother has always been fluid. Always. Thor didn't doubt that he would walk away.

That he would be fine.

And now he can't believe his stupidity.

Loki was in that. Loki was _in _the middle of Surtur's destruction. _Loki was in that._

His little brother is staggering towards him, his limbs shaking and washed out lips parted in the never ending repeat of a word. The clothing he's wearing is little but rags now, charred as it is, revealing the blotchy, black and red skin. There's something clutched close to his chest, almost protectively, and Thor thinks it's an Aesir. He doesn't know if he's holding a corpse in his arms, but Thor doesn't care.

Loki is barely walking.

And he's mouthing "help."

The bottle slips from his hands and smashes into the ground at his feet. The pieces scatter, going in all directions at once and sparkle across the floor. Thor tries to take in the sight, but doesn't find himself fully capable.

_He did this. He told Loki to take Surtur's crown. Loki wouldn't have been in there if Thor hadn't told him to do that._

_He did this._

The resigned look Loki sent him on the bridge makes sense now. Thor hadn't really thought about it, more focused on their advancing sister and his desire to get the Asgardians to safety. Loki hadn't expected to walk away from this, because unlike Thor, he _knew _what would happen. At the epicenter of the burning, the chances of Loki walking away were slim.

Very slim.

And it might not have mattered that he did if Thor doesn't _move._

Thor kicks glass to the side as he moves forward, nearly barreling into Loki in his haste to reach him. His hands lift to grip Loki's shoulders, but he stops before he makes contact as he sees that the skin is broken and tattered there just as much as anywhere.

Panic wraps around his stomach, giving a hard kick.

He doesn't know what to do.

He was trained by Eir in the arts of healing after a stupid incident in his and Loki's youth, but he doesn't know what to do. Any medical procedure has slipped from his mind, and the only thing he _can _think to do is let out a loud scream and run for someone to fix this problem. To be the adult, because he doesn't know how anymore.

"Loki..." the word is strangled.

"Help...he..." Loki wheezes, and the sound of his voice spurs the panic up further. "Help...broth…"

"I'm here, Loki," Thor promises, and forces in a hitched breath. Loki's green eyes are wet, but distant. As if he's not really _here. _Thor flicks his gaze around the space, trying to find somewhere he can set Loki down, and—oh. The person. He needs to take care of that, too.

There's a long couch, about ten feet from them, and Thor reaches out a tentative hand to touch Loki's elbow and guide him towards it. Loki goes with more stumbles, and a soft cry. Thor murmurs apologies, but Loki won't stop repeating that word.

Thor quietly thanks anyone listening that the burns are mostly on Loki's upper body, as if he was leaning down when he got hit face first by flame, and forces Loki into a seated position. Loki's face twists with open pain, and Thor winces, apologizing again.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

If Loki _was _to return, Thor was supposed to throw something at his head and they would trade a few more lines before...Thor doesn't know. A hug? That all sounds so childish now, but given his ignorance of the last few days, his _stupidity, _he really couldn't have been expecting much more. Now Loki is dying, and Thor is helpless to stop it.

The corpse.

He needs...he needs to look at that. He feels almost dazed, and he tries to shake himself out of it. Loki's broken cries are ignored in favor of leaning forward to gently scoop the equally burned, broken body from his arms. Loki makes a noise of protest, a bit of lucidity slipping into his eyes as he lifts his head up. Their eyes meet, and Loki's hand twitches as if trying to reach for the corpse. "Help...her," he gasps, "she's...she's…"

"Shh," Thor soothes, and tries to give an encouraging smile. "It's okay, Loki."

"Help...help...her."

Oh.

_Oh._

Loki has not been repeating "help" this whole time. He has been repeating _that. _Thor thought some parts of it sounded funny, but assumed so because Loki isn't in prime condition. Something in his chest gives a funny lurch. Loki is dying, and he doesn't seek aid for himself, but this corpse. Woman. Thor doesn't know. It wasn't what he'd expected.

Quietly thanking the Grandmaster's vacuous furniture and financing choices, Thor sets the woman down on the other part of L-shaped couch, and then his eye lingers on her face and he stops. It's really the first time he's _looked _at her since this whole mess began, and recognition sparks instantly. Black hair has been charred as if it was on fire, making it shorter and more ragged, but it doesn't hide the sharp cheekbones or sunken eyes of his older sister.

No.

_No._

Loki couldn't have been that stupid.

Loki couldn't have hated them that much.

Loki couldn't—Loki brought _Hela._

Loki _saved _Hela from Surtur, even though Thor had just _told _him that the only way to kill her was to start Ragnarok and if Loki saved her than that means that they just blew up their realm for _no good reason _and Odin would have outright strangled him by now because Asgard was his birthright and whatever Heimdall says that means the _realm _to, not just the people and, _and, and—_

Thor drops Hela unceremoniously onto the couch, and whirls on his younger sibling. "What on Helheim were you thinking!?" escapes him before he can stop it, and the lights flicker at his rage. Loki looks up at him, gasping and wheezing, but very much _here._

"Br'th'r…" Loki slurs, and blinks several times, hands coming up to press against his chest as if he's trying to protect himself. Thor remembers his rage before they left for Earth, and his temper drops almost as quickly.

Loki thinks that Thor is going to hit him. Even in this state. The half lucidity, he is going off of instinct, and thinks that Thor is going to hurt him. He sobers, and draws in a deep breath through his teeth, trying to make sense of this all. Loki—and Hela, loathe he is to admit it, _and probably won't offer it anyway—_need medical attention. Medical attention Thor can't give if he's standing here gaping like a fish.

He turns, willing the two to still be there when he looks back and moves to the chest of drawers he was digging through earlier for his surplus of stab wounds and his eye. The _Statesmen _is bursting with medical equipment and basic survival items that shouldn't be here, and Thor suspects that is by Loki's hand. It wouldn't have taken him long to gather the freed slaves together, but Loki was late, even by his standards of drama—Loki wouldn't have let the Asgardians fight on the bridge in the first place, at least the Loki _he _knew—and the odd supplies is probably the leading cause in that.

Loki brought aid in more than just soldiers.

And right now, Thor has never been more grateful for that.

He grabs as much medical equipment as he can carry, dumping it in front of the couch before going back for more and returning. He goes about cleaning the burns as best he can, but Loki keeps making awful mewling noises that make him hesitate and are distracting. Loki bound up his wounds all the time, but Thor can really only remember scarce few where Thor was allowed to return the favor. Usually only when Loki was unconscious and they couldn't reach Asgard fast enough.

He can't focus on much more than the fact that Loki is in pain, and Thor is a leading factor in said pain.

He should call Eir, another professional healer—someone who knows what they're doing—but he can't. For one thing, there's the Hela Problem, and that's not going away so Loki can survive this. For another, who can spare a moment for them? The Aesir's wounds are grievous, and the healers will be focused on them first. As they should be.

The Crown shouldn't be the first priority.

(Thor wishes there was someone else here.)

Thor does what he can, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Loki is barely conscious by the time he's finished, but when Thor moves to pull away, Loki's damaged hand reaches out to weakly grab for his wrist.

"Help...her…" Loki murmurs.

Hesitation. Stutter. Stop. Thor snaps his teeth together and clenches his fist beneath Loki's cold fingers. He doesn't even know what Hela has _done _to warrant his brother's mercy. Hela and Loki barely traded two (one? Norns, he doesn't know) sentences. Hela, a sadistic psychopath, wouldn't have had any problems letting Loki die. Letting _any _of them die. She stabbed Thor more than six times. She _took his eye._

And Loki wants him to _help _her.

Norns, he can't do it.

He can't nurse her back to health, knowing what she _is, _and he feels awful for it. Isn't he supposed to be the good guy? Isn't he supposed to be the hero? The one that people can place their faith in and be assured they made the right choice?

Why can't he help her?

This is his _blood, _and he can't—

Stupid. Idiot. Selfish. _Why _can't he just do something _good? _Why can't he just—Thor flicks his gaze towards Hela. All he can see is the death she tried to bathe Asgard in. All he can hear in his head is her whispering that she'll kill every last Asgardian to get to Hofund. Her rage. Her cool blade against his face as his eyeball is violently torn away. The desperation he felt to get Loki off of the Bifrost bridge to both increase his chances of survival, and so, if it came down to it, Loki wouldn't have to watch them all be slaughtered.

"Thor." Loki's voice is fading. Barely above a rasp. "Please."

Thor sets his teeth. "_Why?"_

He doesn't want to kill his sister, but he doesn't want her to kill all of them. It would just be easier to..."She's...not…" Loki heaves and squeezes his eyes shut further, pinching the raw skin like it will save him from pain. "Not...hopeless."

"_What?_"

"Not...h'peless..." Loki repeats, slurring. "Help...her…"

_Norns._

He can't—Loki sounds desperate. Pleading. Thor draws in a breath, flexing his hand. His resolve settles, and he bites at the edge of his tongue, quietly cursing Loki under his breath. He trusts his sibling's judgement, the last six years aside. Loki isn't stupid, nor is he bloodthirsty. If he wanted to kill them all, he would have just gained their trust first. Loki didn't betray him. He didn't betray Asgard.

He just wanted to save their psychopathic sister.

Thor swallows guilt and shame, moving towards the broken figure of Odin's firstborn. He grabs his meager medical equipment, and tries to pretend that this is just another patient. This is just another soldier with a field injury he needs to wrap up before they can move on with their lives.

It helps, but not much.

Hela's skin isn't as awful as Loki's, but compared to the rate at which she was healing before, it's bad. Didn't their father mention something about Hela drawing all her power from Asgard? With Asgard gone...how much of a threat _is_ she? How much of her power did she keep?

He shakes his head. It doesn't matter right now. Right now, he's dressing the worst of the burns and trying to keep the damage from being permanent. There are some places he knows will scar, but he can't do anything to stop it. Hela's skin is cool to the touch, and her fingernails are blackened. The latter doesn't seem to be by choice.

When all is said and done, Thor sits back on his heals and blows out a heavy breath. The air feels weighted, settling into his lungs like it intends to never let him get up. He thinks he might be too exhausted to anyway. Loki's breathing has quieted, and Thor chances a quick glance at the younger to make sure he's still alive before returning his gaze to the polished floor.

The worst of the danger is over. If they can make it through the next several hours, they should survive the next week. (Yes? No, he doesn't _know.)_ It's what comes after Thor doesn't have a clue about. He doesn't even know what to do _now._

There's so much to still to do. He needs to talk with the curia regis. He needs to give them a course of direction on where they're _going, _needs to settle into his place as king, needs to check on provisions and see how many were injured or lost, needs to mourn with the people, needs to find the Valkyrie and Bruce, needs to _keep his brother alive._

He can't tell anyone about Hela. Not now. Not after they've just escaped her wrath. He doesn't even know if he can say a word about Loki, because if he does, Eir will likely want to double check his work and then Hela will be revealed and—no.

This needs to stay between him and his siblings.

(Norns, he has no idea what he's doing).

000o000

A few hours later, Thor checks his brother and Hela over, making sure they still breathe and there's nothing immediate he should stay and monitor. (There isn't). After a bit of debate and anxious pacing, Thor decides that avoiding public suspicion would probably be best. He doesn't need anyone to come looking for him and accidentally stumble on this.

He leaves. He doesn't want to, but he does.

He bumps into Heimdall first, and one thing leads to another and then suddenly he's been "crowned" and they're on their way to Midgard. He barely remembers half of what was said. After pulling up false platitudes and giving far too many smiles than are sincere, Thor's more than exhausted. When he manages to escape the stifling grasp of social interaction, Heimdall pulls him to the side.

Thor panics, irrationally, because Heimdall has to _know. _How can he not? Loki and Hela are hidden in whatever-that-room-was. Heimdall likely _saw _and is now going to ask his intentions and reasoning, and Thor won't be able to give him much of anything because he doesn't know. He doesn't. He wishes that he did, but he just...he doesn't. (They're family. His _only _family now, and Thor can't just let them die).

"Are you alright?"

Thor stops. He has to process the words twice before he understands their meaning, and even then it doesn't seem to make much sense. His teeth set and he looks up at the gatekeeper. "What?" the word slips off his lips readily.

Heimdall's yellow eyes settle on his face, and Thor tries his best not to squirm. For all that he and Heimdall have grown close these last few years (before, when he was a child, Heimdall was distant, but warm), Thor still can't help but be unsettled by the stare. Maybe it's because this time the secret feels ready to bubble out without any prodding on the older Aesir's part.

Thor pinches his lips together.

"Are you alright?" Heimdall repeats. "You look sick."

Oh.

_Oh._

"No. I'm fine." Thor promises. His body aches in protest and his eye burns beneath the sorry excuse for a patch he crafted before leaving the room nearly two hours ago. Thor has never been much of a liar, and the disbelief shows openly on Heimdall's face.

The gatekeeper sighs and Thor's apprehension increases ten fold. Does he _know? _Why isn't he saying anything? Is he acting as a distraction? Would he _say _something if he knows? Thor doesn't know how Heimdall could have missed it.

...Unless Loki was cloaking them. But Loki is half _dead. _Could he really have blinded himself from Heimdall in that state? Maybe? Thor doesn't know much about how the spell works, only about its existence.

"Thor," Heimdall's voice is soft. Thor snaps back at it like he's been struck. "Don't be a fool. If you are hurt—"

"I'm _fine." _He can't keep the bite out of his voice as much as he would have liked. "Heimdall, honestly."

Heimdall's eyes narrow, but he says nothing in retaliation. "Very well."

He turns as if to leave, and Thor's breath squirms in his chest. "Wait—" Heimdall stops, then meets his eye, "—Loki. My brother, have you seen him?" Norns, could he have _been _more blunt or obvious? Brilliant. Why should he worry so much about being found out if he's going to do all the hard work for them?

It could just be his imagination, but he thinks Heimdall's lips curve down with something close to sympathy. Perhaps even pity. "No, my king—" _it's Thor, it's still Thor, don't-_don't_—"_I have not. I'm sorry."

Relief crashes into him so suddenly it feels like a physical weight. His shoulders slump and Thor tries to catch himself as he remembers that _he's _not supposed to know where Loki is. (What is he doing? What is he doing? What is he—?)

"Oh." Thor forces out. "Alright. Let me know if you see him?"

Heimdall nods once. "I will."

Thor mimics the head motion, containing a wince when the movement jars the ache of his eye socket. It's hollow, but still so raw and painful. Thor's never had a limb severed from his body before. Not like _this. _Tony once asked him if Asgardian's can regrow body parts, and Thor had laughed at how ridiculous the question sounded. Their bodies are adaptive, yes, but the last time Thor saw through that eye will be in _Gullapasset, _the capital palace.

He's still standing here. He should go. There's things to finish. Thor gives Heimdall another nod and saunters off, trying not to coil around his stomach in an attempt to ease the pressure there from the wounds he sustained. Asgard is gone, and without proper nutrients to keep up their rapid healing, Thor knows that it will take days, if not a week, for this to heal properly.

And that's only if it doesn't get infected.

It won't.

Thor's an idiot, but he knows how to clean a stab wound.

Things—the things that should be finished. Norns, it's hard to focus. Thor's teeth set tightly and he breathes out, privately wondering when the next time he'll get to sleep is. It feels stupid and selfish, because a good king doesn't place his needs above his peoples'. Sleep can come later. Asgard can't.

Thor tries to pretend he can't feel Heimdall's gaze on him until he turns a corner and slips out of the gatekeepers line of sight.

000o000

He can't find the Valkyrie anywhere, even though she was at his impromptu coronation, and he tries not to be bothered by this, but he is. He avoids as many of the living curia regis as he can and focuses on helping the citizens.

He helps a mother find her children, and a man find his wife, a woman collect rations for the day and hands out as much water as he dares.

All the while the mental clock in his head doesn't stop ticking, alerting him to how long he's been away from his brother and Hela. Four hours. Five. Six. Nine. He wants to believe that everything is fine, but he can't quite get the lie settled enough for him to believe it. It's fluid, and won't center itself.

They could be dead. Loki is a Jotun, he could have succumbed to the heat easily. Hela could have murdered him. She could be on her way here to murder everyone. Loki could have been acting, and the two of them are plotting out how best to kill them. For all that Hela is a loose canon, Loki is so many unknowns now.

"My king?" Thor flinches to the title, mind setting on Odin, and it still feels raw. The young woman stares at him, head tilting slightly. She must be the one that spoke.

Thor remembers he's handing out bottled water and offers a wide smile, thrusting one her way. "Take care of yourself." He instructs, "Water is important."

Important.

Wow.

That's going to sell everyone to this story. (Shut up.)

000o000

Thirteen hours after leaving, Thor returns to the room. It's on the lower levels of the ship, and the space Thor suspects was once a wine cellar, but the Grandmaster had different plans for it. It's not sleeping quarters, and certainly not meant for much else than lounging. Thor doesn't even know what the point of having so many rooms like this is.

The Asgardians are trying to sleep now, but without the familiar twin suns in the sky to dictate day and night, it's hard. Sleeping quarters are cramped, and Thor refused any given to him, deciding that he can survive in the hidden nook for a few weeks.

Weeks is optimistic.

Midgard is months away with the _Statesmen. _The technology on the ship is old and rusting; if they're losing parts along the way, Thor wouldn't be surprised. It will be a miracle if they can make it to the nearest port without dying. The _Statesmen _can't use jump points. Without the portals breaking through Sakaar's open space, Thor doubts that he or Loki would have arrived on Asgard in time to be of any help. They wouldn't have had a few hours of delay. It would have been years. Maybe even decades.

As it is, they're lucky.

Loki is still unconscious when Thor checks the worst of the burns and feels for a fever. Loki's skin is burning to the touch, and it's unsettling. His brother is never this warm normally. His skin has always been frigid, almost to the point of unbearable to touch. Thor presses his lips together tightly and breathes out steadily in an effort to calm himself.

It will be fine.

(_Because you wish it so? How adorable.)_

Thor pulls himself away from his brother and turns to Hela. Her chest is rising and falling with more ease than it did before, and Thor takes what relief he can in that. He moves to the other end of the couch and reaches out to take her hand to look at the deep burn on her forearm. His fingertips have scarcely brushed the edge of her skin before sharp pain spurs through his gut and the world spins.

Thor smashes onto his back, hard, and Hela lands on top of him, pinning him into place and presses a long dagger up against his throat. Adrenaline pours through his limbs, igniting them. He didn't realize she was awake. Norns, he hadn't—_stupid, stupid, stupid._

She'd been waiting.

And now she's going to kill him.

"Wait!" his voice hardly holds the authority it should. The power. Their father always boomed everything into a room, easily taking control of the situation and turning it to his favor. Thor can barely get the syllable out without becoming a bumbling mess.

The dagger digs into his neck, applying pressure to his skin. If he swallows, he thinks he'll tear something open. If Hela had wanted him dead, she would have already slit his throat. She hasn't. Her weight is distributed awkwardly, not the way that a proper tackle should be. Pain? Something else?

She looks awful. Her eyes are shaded, burned skin raw and it Thor can barely believe she's awake, let alone upright. She must be accustomed to working through pain, because she hardly seems bothered by this. Thor would have thought, at a first glance, that with her healing rate...she wouldn't know what pain felt like. The choppy layers of her uneven hair are flying around her face now, framing it strangely.

Hela's gray-blue eyes narrow. "Give me one reason I shouldn't, brother." Her voice is barely above a rasp. The title is spat, and Thor flinches, remembering the balcony and the sharp pain of the daggers digging everywhere. The fresh blood pooling beneath his armor and—_Tell me brother, what were you—_

"I didn't let you die." Thor says quickly. Lightning builds at the tips of his fingers. The edges go numb as his nerves are overpowered by the sedir. The core of energy Mjolnir used to help him focus is wild and laughing inside of him, waiting for the next move.

He doesn't know what to do. This isn't Loki. He could talk Loki out of killing him. (Maybe. That worked so well on the Bifrost, didn't it? _I'm not your brother, I never was—). _He's never been good at talking his way out of problems. _That's Loki's job. _He just barges through it and hopes to come out unscathed.

Hela laughs, hoarse and hollow. "And that's supposed to be a _mercy?"_

Thor hesitates. It's a moment too long because Hela begins to dig the blade in deeper to his skin. His breath catches and panic demands he _do _something. Thor reaches up and grabs Hela's forearm, ripping it away. It's thinner than he expected it to be.

Apparently not expecting the fight, or simply far weaker than Thor first thought, Hela tumbles onto her side as Thor wrestles the weapon from her grip. It doesn't matter. Hela can summon them from anywhere, so taking one won't stop her, but he does it anyway. Habit. Maybe desperation.

He pins Hela into place, quietly cursing Loki for this whole mess. If he'd just—

Hela slams her fist into his jaw. Thor's head whips to the side, but he manages to keep his arms rooted onto his sister's shoulders. The pain feels distant. The blood pools into his mouth without much constraint. Norns, he has no idea what he's doing. Loki is the diplomat. Thor is the disaster.

A sharp pain smacks into his gut and Thor chances a glance down to see a dagger sticking out of the armor. Another hole to patch. That's _inside _of him? (He can't feel the pain. He can't feel it anymore and that's not—)

_Focus!_

"Stop it!" Thor demands, barely keeping the rage in check. "What do you hope to gain by my murder!?"

Hela's face tightens, but her words are slurred. She's in more pain than he first thought. "I'm here, aren't I? You wouldn't have kept me alive unless you stopped Surtur from—"

"Asgard is _gone." _Thor interrupts, resisting the urge to rattle her back and forth. "Surtur destroyed it yesterday. There's nothing left but rubble because of _you."_

Hela's eyes widen some, but her voice portrays none of her surprise. "_Me? _How am _I _at fault?"

_How is she not!?_

_They wouldn't have had to do this if she wasn't trying to kill everyone and everything!_

Thor doesn't punch her. He wants to. He wants to let the rage settle over him like a numbing blanket and lose himself to it, but he thinks of Loki flinching back from him yesterday when he thought Thor would hit him, and he can't. Thor's supposed to be better than this now. He's a hero. Heroes don't stay stagnant. They're _good_. Thor wants so desperately to be good.

Thor shoves off of her. His teeth set with disgust and he looks down at the woman. "Our father created Ragnarok to kill _you. _Asgard wouldn't have been on a doomed ticking clock if you weren't such a monster. How is this _not _your fault?"

Hela starts at that, sitting upright as best she can. Her lips curl into a sneer, "Father would be proud. You really _are _his incarnation."

Thor flinches, panic opening in his gut like a blackhole. "I'm not—"

"Finish this." Hela interrupts, voice hard. "Kill me and be done with it. There's no point in pretending we both aren't aware you want nothing else."

Is he that translucent? Thor shies away from the thought, horrified. He's supposed to be the one that's seeing the best in people now, isn't he? He doesn't _want _to kill her, it's just a necessity to keep his people—his brother—safe. Prison can be momentary, but death is permanent. "I'm not going to kill you, sister." Thor says firmly.

Hela smiles, but it's without mirth. "You think so?"

"I know so." Thor promises, pulling the frayed edges of his patience together. He needs to sleep. It's been more than forty hours now. He draws in a breath, "Listen. I don't know what you think is going to happen, but no one is killing anyone. Loki didn't let you succumb to Surtur for a reason—" Thor stomach twists with a protective discomfort when Hela's gaze flicks towards their unconscious younger brother "—and I don't _want _to kill you, but I will; make no mistake of that. So you can either try to be civil about this, or I'll throw you out into open space. You won't die, but it won't be comfortable."

Hela stares at him for a second. Her gaze is searching. "_Space?" _she echoes. "We're—this is a vessel." Recognition dawns on her face and she looks down at the ground as if it has betrayed her. "You—the escape vessel that the other one brought. You _brought me here!?"_

His fists tighten. Thor forces out a steady breath, something pinching in there. "Where else did you _expect_?"

Hela runs a hand through her charred hair, swearing under her breath. Then again. "You _idiot. _Asgardians do not forgive, has Father taught you _nothing? _Mercy is the way of cowards. _Kill me!_"

Will she _stop _that!? "No!" Thor says, harder. "I'm not an executioner—"

"_That doesn't make a difference!"_

"SHUT IT!" Thor roars, and the lights flicker, buzzing in and out as if someone is tapering with the intensity of their glow. He forces in a breath, but it helps nothing. Hela's face contorts with rage and she draws a sword, staggering towards her feet. Thor braces himself for an attack, but he doesn't need to.

Hela barely makes it upright before her hand slaps against one of her worst burns on her stomach and she makes a little noise before her eyes roll back and she slumps forward, unconscious. Thor catches her before she can hit the ground and ignores the sword as it clatters against the floor. Hela weighs almost nothing, and he sets her back on the couch, trying to ignore how his hands tremble.

He doesn't know what he's doing.

Norns, he doesn't—

His stomach hurts with a burning fire. Why is it—why does it—? He looks down. Thor remembers Hela's dagger, digging into his gut.

Oh. Oh yes.

That. Thor grabs the edge of the hilt and pulls the weapon from his skin. Blood gushes immediately and his vision spins. Round and round it goes, refusing to settle no matter how much Thor shakes his head or squeezes his eyes shut. Everything hurts. His hand, pressed against the wound, is wet. He doesn't know how much more blood he can lose without the damage being permanent.

He lost a lot yesterday. Lots upon lots of lots.

He—

Thor tumbles to the floor. He doesn't get up.

000o000

"—I don't know." The councilwoman murmurs. "We have to get this under control—find something to help. We can't survive the rest of the journey like this. Midgard is nearly six months time from Asgard. How will we provide for the citizens?"

Thor wishes he knew. It would solve a lot of these problems. He doesn't, and the Asgardians are going to die of thirst. The Valkyrie, once he found her, gave him a basic report of their supplies. Water for at least a week, but food stores, even rationed, will last no longer than three or four days. Aesir can last years without food if the need really arrives, some have even hypothesized they don't _need _to eat except in their youth or if they have sedir, but water? They need water.

And they have a week.

Thor fidgets in his seat, trying to ignore the Valkyrie's staring. He forces words out. "Are there any nearby outposts?" the question is for Heimdall specifically, but Thor won't complain if someone else knows the answer. The group is what remains of King Odin's curia regis—Asgard's elite council members. Typically, it has twelve members: three women and nine men with the king and queen at the head and the king's adviser (usually a sibling or close friend) as a second in command. Today, it bares the six remaining members from Hela's skirmish, Heimdall among them; the Gatekeeper of the Realm has always been reserved a place on the curia regis.

Heimdall is quiet a moment, and then shakes his head once. "About eight days from here."

_Eight?_

"That's too far." Lady Pettidottir gasps, pressing a hand against her mouth. "_Eight? _Surely there must be one sooner."

"There are a few worlds." Heimdall admits, "But not allies of Asgard."

Very few realms outside the Nine are allies with Asgard. Many have a loose acquaintance with them, but Thor is beginning to suspect that Odin's (and Hela, a snide voice in his head hastens to add) reign of terror has something to do with that. Those inside the Nine may not remember much of what happened, but elsewhere isn't so lucky.

"What of Vanaheim?" a different member asks.

"Vanaheim is the opposite direction of Earth." Thor mumbles, rubbing at his chest dully. The Valkyrie gives him a slight kick in the calf and Thor starts, looking over at her in annoyance, mouthing "_what?" _sharply.

She refuses to meet his gaze.

"Even if we _do _manage to find an outpost, how will we pay for it, my King?" Sir Borison asks, voice as thin as his lips. "We don't carry Asgard's treasury in our pockets and this...Grandmaster did not leave much on the ship."

Thor...hadn't thought about that. Beyond some alcohol, they don't really have much to trade, either. He bites at his tongue and tries to keep his hands steady. He can't stay upright much longer. He hurts everywhere. Norns. He's—he's..._he's…_

"I know that Loki stole a great deal from the Grandmaster," Thor murmurs and the eyes in the room flick towards him again. Thor bites harder. "We'd have to look to see if he thought to take any money."

Probably. Loki thinks of things like that.

The curia regis shift uncomfortably. Thor looks at his shaking hands for a moment longer before folding his hands across his chest and stuffing his fingers into the creases of his elbows. He can still feel the tremble. The room is fuzzy. Everyone's gone quiet. Thor lifts his head up. "What?"

"Have...how do you expect us to_ trust_ your brother, my King? He lied to us for four _years _and now he's abandoned Asgard." Lord Arkenson mutters. Thor starts, looking across the room in horror. Wait-wait-_wait—_

"No. He didn't." Thor shakes his head rapidly. "Loki would never—"

"Where _is _he, then?" Lady Pettidottir demands. "It's been over seventy hours and no one has seen or heard from him. If he hasn't abandoned Asgard, why didn't he come onto the ship? Where is he—?"

"He awoke Surtur, you idiot. _That's _where he is." The Valkyrie's voice is flat. Thor's gaze flicks to her face with some surprise. He had expected to have to defend Loki by himself, but she...Norns, he has never been more grateful for her presence. She is steady. Secure.

The room quiets. "So he's dead then." Lord Arkenson says. Thor's jaw tightens as he picks up the small edge of relief dotting the councilman's tone. _Relief. _As far as they're aware, Thor's only family has been killed in the last week, and they're relieved. No one has even—

_Stop. You're not five. You don't need someone to offer you comfort. You're king now. Kings don't get friends. Father told you that enough that you should—_

Thor bites back his first response which is to immediately spout out about how Loki's actually _on _the _Statesmen _and trying to recover from life-threatening wounds, but he can't. He keeps himself quiet. Remembers that he's not supposed to know where his brother is and looks up, "Loki's _not _dead."

Another councilman makes a pitying noise.

The Valkyrie sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder. His skin tenses beneath her touch. "Listen, Majesty, the chances of him walking away from that are—"

"_You don't know my brother." _Thor snaps. Loki walked away. Loki got not just himself out, but also Hela. He was _fine. _(Half dead, the more realistic part of him points out. Loki still hasn't awakened yet. You don't even know if he'll recover. _Shh.)_

If the Valkyrie's deterred by his tone, it doesn't show. "Maybe not, but I don't think Loki expected to come back."

_Bold move brother, even for me._

Thor tries to hide a tremble, and doesn't think he succeeds. His jaw tenses. He breathes. In, out. He knows that he's on the verge of panicking, but he stops it because he doesn't have time. He wants to sleep. Still hasn't. Not yet. Every time he thinks about closing his eyes he remembers something else that must be done.

He doesn't know where all this energy is coming from. When was the last time he ate? Has he eaten since before his capture on Muspelheim? He...doesn't think so. That would make it what? Three weeks?

He's lasted longer.

He'll be fine.

_Breathe._

_Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. Thud—_

When he finally manages to catch himself, the council has shifted topics. The Valkyrie's hand hasn't left his shoulder. It seems to be there in silent support, and Thor wilts at that. He's not deserving of anything like that. He hasn't done enough to earn it. He focuses, listening.

"—should we really be trusting funds from Sakaar? It's practically nowhere—will it work as currency here? Time is disjointed around that realm, it could be far outdated." Someone points out.

"The _Statesmen _runs well enough." Lord Arkenson sniffs.

Yeah. Certainly. Falling apart, but working splendidly.

Lord Fredilson sighs under his breath, "We're all doomed to starvation."

"Indeed." Lord Vili agrees, his eyes narrowing and the thick, bushy white eyebrows he's currently sporting making a show of hiding his eyelids from view completely. "If we had simply thought ahead of the consequences for what this was meant to be, it all could have been avoided."

Thor flinches. Anything Lord Vili has to say is usually negative or soul crushing, so he shouldn't be surprised, but it doesn't make the words hurt any less. He knows that he was acting out of desperation—foolish desperation, because Hela is still alive—but it was the only thing that would have worked. What else was he supposed to do? Hela wasn't dying.

"What's done is done," Heimdall interjects, voice soft, "we must focus on what is now. We will aim for this outpost to gather supplies—make trades if we must. We will find a way to provide for the citizens."

"But what if we can't?" Sir Borison questions, his voice is faint. "We can't give them false hope—we shouldn't, it's cruel."

"It is more cruel to leave them with none." Heimdall says firmly. "We will see if we can find funding the prince may have left and gather what we can for trading in the meantime."

He's so much better at _ruling _than Thor is. Thor doesn't feel ready. So many years spent under his father's guidance, and he still can't _do _this. The room remains quiet for a long moment before Lord Arkenson sighs.

"King Thor, you _must _do something. We can't leave the people to suffer this fate. If we can't find anything to trade or any funds, you _must _come up with another solution."

_Like what!?_

Thor nods, because that seems like the proper thing to do. "I will." He promises. It's false, but no one seems to notice the lie.

000o000

The Valkyrie tracks him down after the meeting, looking like she's out for blood. "Answer me something, Majesty," she demands. Thor braces himself, trying to keep himself from openly panicking. She knows. She must know. She _knows. She knows._

"What?" he asks.

The Valkyrie jabs him in the shoulder and Thor tries not to visibly flinch. Ow. _Ow. _"Are you sick?"

"What? No." Thor's brow furrows with confusion. "Why would I be sick? I haven't been sick in decades."

The Valkyrie rests a hand on her hip. He knows it's a common position for women to take when they're angry, but it reminds him so starkly of Jane that his heart twists inside of his chest. He misses her. Norns, it's been too long.

"Yeah." The Valkyrie agrees. "You're many things, but children are better liars."

Thor wiggles out of her grip. "Honestly. I'm fine. I don't see the point of your concern."

"You look half dead?" The Valkyrie asks rhetorically. "Norns, you're an idiot. Have you seen a healer since Ragnarok?"

"Of course." Thor lies smoothly, "I'm just a little tired. I'll get some sleep, I promise."

The Valkyrie doesn't look like she believes him. Thor can't say he blames her.

Thor catches himself falling asleep for hours afterwards, as if the mere mention of going to bed has drained his body's final supplies of energy away. He's been dozing off if he sits still for days (hours?) now, maybe he's just more aware of it.

000o000

"Hey, uh, Thor?"

Thor stops, turning to look back and his eyes widen with surprise as he sees Bruce. "Bruce!" Thor exclaims, relief escaping into his stance. "It's good to see you!"

"Yeah! Hey." Bruce agrees, looking strangely out of place. His hands keep shuffling awkwardly towards the sleeves of his long shirt. It looks like an Asgardian robe, but where it came from is a different story. Bruce looks at him for a second before his shoulders slump with relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." He reassures.

Thor moves forward and gives him a quick embrace doing his best to avoid applying pressure to anything that aches. Bruce's arms come up and Thor flinches at his touch. Is there a part of him that isn't damaged right now? Probably a finger.

"How are you?" Thor questions, pulling away.

"A little tired, mostly hungry." Bruce admits with a slight shrug. "Heimdall found me and explained...about it. I'm sorry about Asgard, Thor." He says sincerely. "I wish we could have found something else to stop your crazy sister."

Thor's expression grows tight for a second. _Yes, no worries, she's downstairs. Possibly plotting the murder of everyone here. _"Yes. Well. What happened happened and there is no need to dwell on the past." Thor insists.

_Asgard is a place, not a people._

More fidgeting with the sleeves. Bruce nods, "All the same, though. I...um, I've been looking for you."

Great. Thor tries to bury the dread and draws up what little bits of energy he can. "What can I do for you?" The last time he saw Bruce or Hulk was at his coronation a few days ago. Hulk was present. No. That can't be right. He thinks he passed by Hulk a few times a couple of hours ago.

How long has it been since Asgard exploded? Days? Hours? Thor doesn't know. Time has blurred to the point it's lost all meaning.

"Hulk. Hulk wanted…" Bruce pauses, and then rewords with: "He smelled blood on you and—yeah. He couldn't do anything about it, but I'm a doctor so, um," he shrugs awkwardly. Thor bites at his tongue in annoyance.

He's _fine. _Will everyone _stop _pestering him with it!? Asgard comes first. Asgard _always _comes first. Thor forces his smile to hold. "It was probably just my eye," he gestures vaguely towards the area, "it won't stop bleeding."

"Oh." Bruce squints up at him. "Do you mind if I…?"

_It will get him to stop._ "No." Thor assures, "Please."

000o000

He hasn't been in the room for almost sixteen hours and he's buzzing with anxiety when he returns. He's dead on his feet, he knows that, but this takes precedence. When he staggers into the room, he stumbles onto his knees. His head is spinning and he can taste blood. Why does it taste so _sweet?_

It should be worse. Sour and bitter, like the knowledge of tasting it is.

Move.

Go.

_You have things to do. Go. Go. Go._

Loki. Loki. Loki. Thor heaves out a breath, swallowing bile and lifts himself up onto his heals. He doesn't know if he can go any further.

"My, my, little brother, did someone beat you?" Thor startles at the voice, looking up. Hela is on her back, limbs sprawled out across the couch in a position that looks uncomfortable. Her head is tipped in his direction, gray-blue hard. Someone braided her hair. She found a different pair of clothing, and most of the bandages are hidden beneath the long dress she's sporting.

She's awake, and she didn't leave. So what was—?

Loki.

Thor turns his gaze from her towards his younger brother, barely daring to breathe until he can see the steady rise and fall of Loki's chest. He gets something both better and worse: Loki's awake. He's somewhat upright and his green eyes are narrowed. He too, found a pair of clothing. It looks like something he would wear when they were younger, and Thor remembers Loki's cache.

Heat rises to his face in humiliation. He tears his gaze away. The one time he enters and both of them are awake _has _to be the one where he collapses.

Hela looks far better than she did a few days ago. Loki's skin is considerably less...charred. They look alive. They're going to be okay. Thor squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe in. This is good. This is very good. They'll be fine and he can…

_Can _he…?

He…

"Brother?" Hela again. Thor wants to snap at her, because that's a title that only Loki gets to call him, but he can't get his voice to work right.

"Thor?" Loki's voice is quieter. Scratchy. Does he have any water he can give to—oh no. Oh. Ow. Oh—

Thor stumbles to his hands and knees and vomits. His limbs are shaking and he can barely keep himself from falling into the wretched substance. His throat burns. His chest constricts and he vomits again.

It tastes like blood. Everything tastes like blood now.

A hand touches his shoulder and he crumples. His hands give out and arms wrap around his chest to keep him from face planting. The fingers are cold. They pull him before dragging him up and Thor lands on something soft. The couch. No—wait. He hasn't finished everything he needs to for sleep and he can't _do _it yet.

Hands move towards the straps of the armor to loosen it before it's being wrestled over his head. Thor shivers and rips his eyes open, trying to focus. His vision blurs. Loki's setting the armor to the side and looking at the various gathering of bruises and mostly-healed scars.

His injuries aren't nearly as grievous as anyone else's.

Time warps, jumping in and out and Thor's vaguely aware of warmth in his stomach. Fingers tap against his face, and Thor focuses, meeting Loki's eyes. "Thor." His voice is drained of patience. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Thor's stomach twists and he struggles to recall the date. "Um," Thor voices, pressing a hand against his stomach subconsciously as the desire to heave rises again. He's not going to vomit all over Loki. "I...I don't…weeks ago?"

Loki shakes his head and lifts up his hand, summoning some sort of fruit Thor thinks is native to Vanaheim. Loki shoves it towards him. "Eat this."

"It won't stay down." Thor mutters, reaching out a hand to grab at the fruit anyway.

"Thor, you lost your focus and have had to expend energy up to what you can't _imagine _to provide for that. On top of everything you were injured. What _possessed _you to think going so long without food was a good idea?"

He's not a child. Loki doesn't need to reprimand him like one. He didn't think it was a good idea. It just sort of happened.

Thor hunches, sitting up as best he can and remembers Hela's in the room when he sees her staring. Her lips are pinched and she's quiet. When he catches her gaze she looks away first. Loki pulls himself up with what looks like far too much effort and sits down next to him. They're close enough that their feet brush against each other.

His chest doesn't hurt as much, and a glance towards it shows the bruises are gone. Loki...must have healed him. The thought makes him both warm and cold. Warm because Loki cared enough to do it, but cold because he shouldn't _have _to. He's such a selfish, greedy—

Thor takes a bite of the fruit. It's almost painfully sour with a salty aftertaste. He doesn't care. It's substance. Once he's swallowed and it's settled in his stomach, he can feel the edge of his headache lesson some. He doesn't even know how Loki knew that was the problem so quickly, but he's grateful.

In an effort to avoid being stared at while he finishes, Thor asks, looking at his younger sibling, "How long have you been up?"

"As of yesterday." Loki's head is tilted.

Thor stills. "_Yesterday?" _He thought it had only been a few hours. "Wait—how long have we been here? On the _Statesmen?"_

Hela shifts and Thor can't help the tense that slips between his shoulder blades when he looks towards her. "I've been awake for at least five days." She answers. Her voice is toneless.

That makes six or seven.

Thor thought it'd only been three.

Oh.

Loki nudges him pointedly, and Thor forces himself to take another bite. He stares between his siblings and realizes that they need to discuss...everything. There's really no way around this. He swallows. Breathes. And then, "We need to talk."

Hela rolls her eyes and throws an arm over her face. "Spare me your dramatics."

"I'm serious." Thor insists, hand tightening around the pear-looking fruit. "We need to talk about what happened and what...what we're going to do now."

"You make this seem so complex." Hela shakes her head. "My fate is the chopping block. That's how this _works, _you ignoramus brat. There's no need to go into a lengthy description of—"

"Sister." Loki's voice is quiet, but enough.

Hela heaves out a breath and Thor wonders what the last day has looked like. Did Hela try to kill Loki when he woke up, too? His insides freeze at that and he forces himself not to shift, taking some relief in the fact that he's in between the woman and his brother. As much as he can be.

"Leniency has never been Asgard's way." Hela says and shifts so she can look at them properly. Her gaze seems haunted. Her face is defeated. Dead. Why is she _relaxed _about this!? She isn't trying to fight, or run, just accepting an imaginary execution like it's a given fact of life—which it _isn't._

So _why—_oh. Thor may not know much about Hela's _reasons _for trying to kill everyone, but he knows that she was trying to get Hofund. She was going to finish what Odin started all those centuries ago with the Eternal Flame. But, after Ragnarok, Hela's army is gone. Her only means of accomplishing her goal is dead. She has nothing to lose anymore if she dies.

"Not anymore." Thor says firmly. "I'm king now. You aren't going to be executed."

"You're going to save my soul instead?" Hela sneers. "How quaint."

"Stop it." Loki hisses. "You're helping nothing."

"This is _your _fault in the first place." Hela's voice has gone cold. "I never _asked _you to save me and you nearly got us _both _killed anyway. Genius. Truly, I marvel in your wisdom. One for the books, isn't it?"

Loki laughs, but it's desperate. Wet. "You think that this some sort of _game _to me?"

Thor hates that his first answer is _yes._

Hela hums, small smile split across her lips. "It's certainly a fantasy. What exactly did you think was going to happen, brother? I'd be indebted to you for saving me? Throw myself at your feet and weep my gratitude?"

Loki snaps up to his feet. He's coiled tight like a snake and Thor draws back, wary. "I didn't expect _anything _to happen, you mewling Ergi." Hela flinches, eyes fixed on Loki's face. Their brother breathes in, out, but his hands are shaking. "And do you want to know a truth, dearest sister? I regret taking you with me."

Thor intakes sharply. The words aren't meant for him, but Norns, he can feel their sting.

Hela draws back, expression going blank.

"Loki," Thor breathes, because what else can he do? The words are _awful _even if they are directed at someone like Hela. But she's still their sister. (The sister you wished dead a few days ago, hypocrite).

Loki whirls, turning on him, "Oh, don't start. _You _don't want _either _of us here. Don't pretend anything different."

Thor chokes, "That's not—"

"_Our paths diverged a long time ago." _Loki's voice is a perfect mimic of Thor's own and a shudder races down his spine at it. He didn't realize how awful the words sound until they fall from Loki's lips instead of his own. It's basically disownment. Loki hadn't done anything but nod, even though he'd clearly understood their meaning, even then.

_I'm not your brother, I never was._

_Our paths diverged a long time ago._

Hela laughs, clearly reveling in the tension and Thor's stomach tightens, a rush of anxiety splitting down his gut. He can't. Norns, he _can't. _No, no, no. Thor jerks up to his feet and storms past Loki, keeping a wide distance between himself and his sister. There's no way to slam a door on the _Statesmen, _but he probably would have if he could.

000o000

He's drunk and hazy when the Valkyrie finds him. He doesn't know how long it's been or even where he found the liquor, but he's downed more than is strictly recommended when she plops down next to him. She steals the bottle from his hand and takes a swig, wrinkling her lips in distaste.

"Never pegged you as a drinker to this proportion." The Valkyrie notes out loud.

Thor stares forward listlessly. "'M trying to numb it."

The Valkyrie hums, setting the bottle between them. When nothing but silence settles between them, she sighs, drawing out the breath. "Norns, you're going to make me ask, aren't you? What are you trying to numb?"

"Everything." Thor grumbles. His head hurts. It shouldn't hurt when he's drunk, but it does. Curses.

"Specific point?" the Valkyrie presses.

If he hadn't been drunk, he would have come up with something passable. If he'd slept for more than five hours in the last six days, it would have been something _believable. _If he wasn't injured and the wounds possibly infected, the Valkyrie wouldn't have had reason to doubt. Instead, "my siblings" comes tumbling out, before everything else follows. "Norns, I can't _stand _them. I'm almost ready to take up Hela's death wish. I was just trying...trying to help and I don't kno'...what I'm doing wrong."

The Valkyrie stills beside him. "Your _siblings? _Plural?"

Thor nods, not understanding why this is such a terrible thing. He groans and buries his head into his hands. His fingers are trembling. "I feel terrible." He whispers. He thinks he's going to be sick again. (Again? He's thrown up recently?)

"What do you mean—" the Valkyrie's voice breaks, and she has to start again. "Majesty, what do you _mean _your siblings?"

"Loki and Hela." Thor grumbles, "Do I have any others?"

Not by blood. Except Loki isn't his blood and Thor keeps forgetting that, even after all this time. An insane-sounding laugh bubbles up his throat. He can't remember the last time he laughed properly. Even this one sounds strangled.

"No. You're joking." The Valkyrie's voice sounds weirdly desperate.

Thor shakes his head. "Nope." He pops the "p". "'M bad at jokes. Father said...said that. A long time ago. I think. I mean, I don't. He did. He did, yes. It hurt, but I was young and stupid then anyway, so it didn't matter much, but he was always saying things like that and it made me feel just _awful—"_

The Valkyrie's hands grab his shoulders, shaking him. "Focus, you dolt. Hela is _on _the _Statesmen?"_

Thor squints. His head hurts. The light hurts. He wants to sleep, but he thinks he'll vomit first.

The Valkyrie slaps him, and Thor startles, surprised. She looks anxious. Stressed. What's...what's going on that's causing her so much discomfort? Discomfort doesn't seem like the right word. What _would _the correct choice be?

"Your psychopathic sister is on the ship!? How!? Where is she!?" the Valkyrie demands, and Thor feels his head clear some as warning bells begin to go off. They rattle him back and forth, insisting that he pay attention to what's being said.

"Wait—how, how did you—" Thor starts to sputter.

_Oh no. No, no, no—_Thor, you idiot.

"Norns curse it!" the Valkyrie snaps, jumping to her feet. "She can't be here. We didn't blow Asgard up just so you could show her _mercy. _Where is the demon? I'll take her head." She doesn't have a weapon on her, but Thor doesn't doubt she could simply tear Hela's head from her body if she tried hard enough.

A swear escapes him and he staggers up to his feet. The Valkyrie begins to storm off and Thor nearly topples to the ground again at how much the world is spinning. He's spent too much time on Earth, he'd forgotten how powerful actual liquor is.

"Valkyrie, wait—"

He nearly rams into a door frame she passes through, and does slam against the far wall when it's further away than he thought. Depth perception is best achieved with two eyes. Thor doesn't know how his father fought with only one eye, even after the wide-spread peace that the final war with Jotunheim brought. Thor can barely avoid the all murderous door frame.

He said something. He wasn't supposed to say anything. He was supposed to stay quiet until—what, they reached Midgard? That's almost half a _year, _and he honestly expected Loki and Hela to stay put in that room for so long? The only reason they haven't left is because they can't. At least, Thor thinks. He didn't get to do a medical assessment before he left last.

Norns, how can anyone trust him to be their _king?_

He's a disaster.

Thor treks after the Valkyrie for nearly two more halls, words bubbling out that he doesn't understand half of. The Valkyrie's patience finally seems to reach its limits and she whirls, jabbing a hand into his shoulder. "Shut up! You don't get what it is that you've _done, _do you? We didn't flee the planet because Hela raised the taxes to something ridiculous—she would have _slaughtered _all of us. What makes you think she's had a change of heart—what made you _save _her!?"

"I—" Thor stutters. "I didn't. Loki did."

The Valkyrie's expression shifts, but only marginally. The rage is still there. Thor hates that he wants to shy away from it. He's not a child anymore. He should be able to take someone's wrath. The Valkyrie's jaw tightens.

"Of all the stupid, self-centered—" she starts to say angrily, but stops when Bruce—wherever he came from, Thor isn't sure, but he hardly has a clear grasp on his surroundings at the moment—grabs her shoulder.

"Whoa, calm down." He instructs.

The Valkyrie shoves his hand off. "Calm down. _How can I be calm about this!?"_

Thor squeezes his eyes shut, barely containing another swear or an open wince. He did his best not to imagine what a confrontation would have looked like for his decision to save his sister after Loki had, but this...hadn't made it there. He'd never expected to blab about it because he was drunk.

_One mistake. One. And he's ruined everything._

"What's going on?" Bruce looks bewildered, eyes frantically jumping between the two of them. "Is someone hurt?"

"They're going to be!" the Valkyrie seethes. "Move. I have to kill someone."

Bruce's eyes go wide with alarm and he grabs her bicep when she starts to move away. "No—no. Valkyrie, stop. Be reasonable. Who on earth could you need to kill here? There's no threat. It's fine."

Thor's stomach is twisting into impossible knots. The world is still fuzzing. Despite all the stress and tension threatening to be squeezed out of him slowly, he still feels the odd euphoria. He wants to laugh and giggle, curling into a ball of joy and not moving for a long time.

He's just a bundle of bad decisions now, isn't he?

"Thor's been lying to us." The Valkyrie says through gritted teeth. "That is, if it isn't the ramblings of a drunk man, which I really doubt. His siblings are on board the _Statesmen, _Banner."

Bruce stops, pales, and then turns to him. "Siblings. Plural? You mean…"

"Loki _and _Hela." The Valkyrie hisses. "He saved the demon from death. Asgard was destroyed for nothing. Hela's going to kill us all, and I'm going to kill her before she gets the chance. I'm just trying to keep us alive. Now move."

Bruce's lips are thinned and his eyes narrow. He hardly seems to have processed the words the Valkyrie said, instead focused on him. "Your sister is here?" He sounds a little panicked. Thor has lived off of nothing but panic and spite the last few days, and a part of him feels strangely vindicated.

He can't get the words to come out. They don't. Instead, Thor offers a grim, twisted smile before pitching forward and vomiting.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wouldn't be too much of a bother, I would love to hear your thoughts! :)
> 
> Next chapter: Probably some time in mid-September, maybe early October. These chapters aren't going to be tiny, so I don't know how fast I'll be able to get them out. :)


	2. Murder and Bacteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your support! It's been such an encouragement! :)
> 
> Guess who raised themselves from the dead? It's me. I'm a part-time necromancer now. :) I am so sorry for the wait! Life kind of kicked and then mental illness kicked harder, and then stress just kind of flattened me. So yeah. We're not doing so hot right now. Haha.
> 
> Small side note here, does anyone else find themselves carrying broken pen caps in their pockets? Because I stuffed my hand into my pocket as I was running to grab a tissue the other day and there was like six broken pen caps just sitting there. No pens. Just the caps. It's...kind of weird. Okay. I'm done for real this time. :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, because I'm...not super fond of it. Actually, I'm awfully nervous. I really don't want to disappoint after such a long hiatus. *Makes panicking whale noises*
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors. Didn't have the motivation to edit this one quite as extensively as normal.
> 
> Warnings: Slight violence, vague suicide idealization, brief mention of self harm, PTSD, anxiety attacks. Please take care of yourselves, my stars!

* * *

"You couldn't have thought to throw up a shield?"

"I was a little _busy."_

"Yes. Right. I'm certain that you had so much weighing on your mind. Aren't you a sedir wielder? How _did _you get us out of there so quickly? Teleportation doesn't work like that."

"You were unconscious when I did it. You're not exactly in the position to be complaining."

Hela rolls her eyes in disagreement and Loki tightens the bandage on the lower half of the wound sharply in a build up of ire. Her mouth opens to retort further, but Loki flicks up a heavy glare in her direction and she snaps her jaw shut, making a low humming noise under her breath. Loki shifts from his position on the couch beside her, lifting the wound up to the lighting again.

The skin is charred and blackened around the edges, the inside filled with dried, yellow pus. Loki's lips are pressed together tightly as he tries to keep his hands steady. They're shaking, the burns along his back stretching out almost to the point of unbearable. He's had worse. He keeps telling himself that, but it doesn't really help anything.

Parting his lips with considerable effort, he questions, "Have you cleaned this?" He shifts the wound back and forth a few times, trying to see it better. The lighting in the small room is horrid. The bulbs keep flickering in and out as if communicating from the grave and Loki can't see nearly as well as he would like to. How is he supposed to do anything effectvily if he's using a secondary light source?

He could create a witch light, but keeping Heimdall's gaze off of them and trying to keep himself functional has already stretched his drained sedir more than he cares to admit. He needs to...he doesn't know. He doesn't know how to fix it after the mess the Master made of it. He hasn't since he stumbled into that S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and has had even less luck since he started his reign.

(What is he supposed to do? He's a disaster now. It's like playing with live wires when he touches his sedir. _He doesn't know what to do.)_

His back stretches further and Loki bites on his tongue sharply to keep the ghosts of his mind at bay.

"No." Hela answers stiffly. "What was I supposed to clean it with? Your blood?"

"That won't help." Loki promises, waving his fingers over the burn, analyzing it. The sedir prods and assess where he can't with his fingers and Loki's eyes narrow as he notices something wrong with the muscle fiber. It's been tampered with, almost as if stuffed to the side or torn open a dozen times. It seems like a far older wound. Long before the flames of Surtur ever touched them, but it never healed quite right. Her forearm must ache if she grips something too hard.

Hela sighs heavily, rubbing the fingers of her other hand against her forehead. "Do you think your brother will kill me if I remove your head?"

Loki pauses, chews on his inner lip and assesses before shrugging. "Doubtful, but I'd rather you don't test that theory again."

"Oh, because we're on such good terms." Hela sneers, stiffening when Loki jabs at something. Loki bites back an instinctual apology and reminds himself that he doesn't have to like her to help her. This wasn't even _his _suggestion. It was hers. They got into a bit of a brawl earlier, after Thor had left—him drawing weapons and her attempting to strangle him only stopping when she tried to summon a dagger and collapsed to her knees with a scream of agony is a more than "_a bit of a brawl"—_but failed to do any serious harm.

And now here they are.

Loki is attempting to put her back together because...he doesn't know. She'd needed it. She'd pled? Perhaps a bit of both. (_You hate seeing people suffer. Always have. For all your criticism of Thor's sentiment you—)_

"What's wrong with it? Can you tell?" Hela demands. "I haven't had—it hasn't _done _that since…" she trails off, biting at her lower lip and Loki is startled by the apprehension she's showing. Hesitation. Perhaps even _discomfort. _She seems to revel in misery and shows no emotion beyond anger and a misplaced apathy.

Loki twitches his fingers, sucking on the inside of his cheek. "There's damaged scar tissue here," Loki notes out loud; Hela stiffens slightly and he narrows his eyes but continues forward hesitantly, "I don't think it ever healed right. Surtur's flames licked at it, you tried to cover your head with your hands before…" he trails slightly, and Hela scoffs, tightening her hand into a fist. She openly winces a moment later and Loki flexes his fingers to wipe the infection on the sides of her skin with his sedir.

"You forced me to sleep." Hela says flatly. "Are you so incapable of admitting that?"

Loki sighs heavily, biting at his initial response which is to babble out about the small, burdenous cube in his magical cache in defense. It won't help. Really, it won't.

_Shut up._

"The infection is terrible. I can clean it out, but the wound will need stitches if I do it with sedir. You aren't healing fast enough for—" Loki starts to explain, but he's cut off. The door to the room is thrust open, almost thrown—if that was possible, which it's not—and the Valkyrie bursts into the space without restraint.

Loki snaps his hands away from his sister, noting that Hela's drawn a small knife in her other hand and the two of them stand still for a second longer. Confusion would be a mild word to explain what's going through his head.

He trusts Thor. He can't help that. Six years of lies, deceit and apathy between them, and Loki still can't seem to get himself to _stop_. He knows that Thor—for whatever reason (_oh, it's not that hard to conjecture)—_has decided to keep word of their presence on the _Statesmen _quiet, and the fact that the Valkyrie looks out for blood, sword in one hand, does not ease the sudden anxiety leaping into his throat. Her face is set in a murderous scowl, features hard and nothing remotely gentle in her stance. Nothing unusual. At least, not to _him._

Loki scrambles up, ignoring broken skin, aching limbs, and burned _everywhere. _His skin is knitting itself back together, but he's still a mess and he doesn't know how much longer he has to wait before he stops feeling sick. For all the ways the universe has tried to have him executed, death by flame has not been one he's experienced more than a mere handful of times.

If he'd just been faster, he and Hela would be fine. They're not, because his sedir has been a disaster since the Master, and that won't have changed so Loki could try and play hero. (_Because_ that _always works. A monster can't do good deeds, have you forgotten that so soon?) _He digs the front of his boot into the metal floor and tosses his dirty curls from his eyes so he can see and assess the situation better.

It's barely been a few hours since Thor stormed off and now the Valkyrie barges in, looking for something to kill? Something must have happened. What made him talk?

From the corner of his peripheral vision, Loki sees Hela get up to her feet beside him, subtly tugging the sleeve of the dress down to her wrist again. It covers the wound with ease. If Loki didn't know to look for how carefully she's tucked the arm against her side, he would miss it entirely.

_What is going on?_

Thor hasn't been in here for hours and beyond their attack that ended in an impromptu healing session, the two of them spent a majority of it in silence. Correction, Hela was staring up at the ceiling for hours in silent contemplation of _something _and Loki was trying to sleep. As childish as it was, both of them were ignoring each other, trying to pretend the words that chased Thor off hadn't slipped out. (_Your words. Not hers. She barely said anything)._

And then...then _that _had happened.

The Valkyrie comes to a staggering halt mid-step and Loki takes this opportunity to try a step forward. He attempts not to fall over from how much his vision spins, barely finding a margin of success. Mmm, no. He wasn't quite ready for movement that fast, then. His teeth set with irritation and breath clenches in his chest.

"_You_!" the Valkyrie spits, finger raised in the direction of Hela. Her expression is incensed, folded in on itself with a type of black hate Loki has seen very few times in his life. His mind flashes to that room, and Loki shakes off the memories of blue skin and cybernetic parts. _Now is not the time._

Following rapidly behind the murder-happy woman is Banner, eyes wide and wearing clothing too large for his thin frame. After that, much to his silent amazement, is the living _curia regis _hobbling behind Banner as if strutting their importance, but uncertain of who is going to care. Odd. They are rarely so tentative—always trying to wave their status like it will save them from impending doom.

The Valkyrie and Thor's companion Loki could handle. (What is he doing? Why is he doing this? _Why? _He doesn't know. He doesn't understand half of what he's doing anymore. Hasn't since Jotunheim). The curia regis is something else entirely. Heimdall is here, too. Oh, for the love of—did the Valkyrie rouse the whole _parliament_ to finish her wishes?

What _is _it, that she's trying to accomplish?

(_Take a guess.)_

At last, behind the others, shaky and wide-eyed is his brother. His cheeks are flushed and his lips chapped. He looks awful. The shadows under his eyes are deep. When was the last time he slept? He's staggering and—he's drunk. Loki's teeth grind harder together. Well. Answers found. Thor's tongue flaps when alcohol passes over it, the Valkyrie—whoever it was that got him talking—likely didn't have to do much beyond give him a slight prod and then Thor spilled everything out.

This—this is why Loki _hates _being drunk. There's so much said that shouldn't have been, and Loki prefers to keep everything clutched as tightly as he can next to his chest. Loki shakes his head, turning his attention elsewhere. Thor can wait a moment, this can't.

The Valkyrie's Dragonfang shifts before she begins to move forward again, as if intending to simply cut through Loki to reach Hela, standing half a step behind him. His gut churns and he has to dig hard enough into his gums to draw blood as his mind frantically waves memories of the Kursed towards him in a wary, ghost-like reminder. He didn't forget. Still bares the scar to the ugly wound.

Loki doesn't think, just reacts. He thrusts himself forward another step cementing his position between the two women, a smile onto his lips. It's thin and he can barely hold it, but he manages. Somewhat.

"Scrapper 142," Loki greets as pleasantly as he's able. He still can't help the wariness that swishes through him at her appearance, blurry memories of a dagger sticking out of his chest and her dragging him out of the Junk Fields of Sakaar when he couldn't breathe creeping at the edge of his mind. She's never shown him mercy since they met. That won't have changed.

"Lackey." The Valkyrie's voice is flat.

"Loki." He corrects for the umpteenth time, catching Heimdall's gaze for a brief moment. The gatekeeper is eyeing him with nothing short of bland amazement and...is that _relief? _No. It can't be right. (Not for _him, _even though _I saw you coming _and—) The curia regis are shifting uncomfortably and Thor is beginning to shove his way to the front.

"I don't care." The Valkyrie snaps, hand flexing around her Dragonfang.

Loki eyes it warily. It would hurt to have that shoved through him, but maybe a little less than the Kursed blade did—_focus. _"Yes, well—" Loki begins.

"_Move_."

He doesn't. He holds his ground, breathing out slowly. "I'm terribly sorry, but I think for the sake of the clean floors that wouldn't be the wisest idea." Loki digs his toes down when the world threatens to spin. He's going to be sick, and it's among the last things he wants to do in front of the council, or anyone else. He can feel the acid building in his throat. "I didn't have any plans to clean up blood today."

Hela releases a laugh. He flinches at how close it sounds and remembers that she's behind him. (_Close enough to stuff a dagger between his shoulder blades without him seeing it.) _The noise offers little warmth. "General Brunnhilde," Hela almost sneers the title, "I _did _wonder where you'd run off to. Kind of you to stop by, but I'm not in the mood for a chat."

The woman flinches.

Thor stops. He looks at the Valkyrie—Brunnhilde?—with wide eyes. The name means something to him, but beyond vague recognition, Loki is dry. Wars, battles, armies—Thor has always been better at retaining that than Loki is.

"Don't start_. _You aren't even _sorry_," the Val—_Brunnhilde _seethes. "You killed _all of them _and you aren't—"

"Brunnhilde. Battle of _Sky's Tears_ Brunnhilde?" Thor interrupts behind them, and Loki's eyes go wide. He whips his head back towards Brunnhilde, sweeping his gaze up and down her. _Oh. _That's where he'd seen her before. There was always a vague sense of familiarity that he couldn't place and it always bothered him on Sakaar.

Brunnhilde's teeth set. Her eyes grow tight and she exhales stiffly. "Yes. That was me."

Was?

_That still is._

Several members of the council openly sputter and Loki feels something in his chest pull. Sky's Tears was not the only battle Brunnhilde fought in, Loki's certain of that fact, but _she _led that? _She _lost the Tesseract to the Midgardians more than a millennia ago? _That was her?_

People still honored her name, though. She wasn't shamed in her efforts, only bathed in praise for everything else she'd accomplished. (That would never have been him. The council would have laughed at his expanse, not _promote _him).

"But—your—" Thor tries to say, unable to get the words out right. _A slave trader. A deserter. A drunk. _Victor of Sky's Tears. One of the generals of the Valkyries. A trusted member of Asgard's army, and she fled. She didn't die with honor, she _ran._

"What's Sky's Tears?" Banner asks, expression furrowed. Loki nearly scoffs at his ignorance. (_At his innocence.)_

"Nothing." Brunnhilde says with teeth.

"That's _hardly _the case." Lord Arkenson shoots down. "You're a hero! A _legend!"_

"It doesn't matter. Lackey, I'm serious, _move." _Brunnhilde hisses. Her sword raises slightly to make her threat heavier and Loki's shoulders tense. He can draw weapons, his sedir isn't depleted enough to leave him crippled. His _body _is. He doesn't know if he could avoid her attacks. Daggers are a close range weapon, and not ideal right now.

He hears Hela audibly sigh again before she steps up beside him. Her chin is lifted a little, but there's not nearly the amount of mirth in her gaze that he'd first suspected from her tone. "Save yourself the blood." Hela waves a hand, "No need for one of your princes to die for nothing, yes?"

Loki stares at her incredulously, mouth lapping open to say something, but nothing comes. It means nothing. It never does, no one takes him seriously enough for it to mean something. Brunnhilde doesn't wait. She swings her sword up, fully prepared for a beheading, but Loki's faster. He may not have the bulk of a proper warrior, but he's quicker than most people give him credit for.

He grabs her forearm and stops the Dragonfang just as it touches Hela's neck. Brunnhilde's eyes shift from her weapon to him, a scowl setting on her face. He stands his ground, drawing in a hissed breath. "Don't." He says sharply.

"You're going to let the demon _live!?" _Brunnhilde snaps, fighting against his grip. He refuses to relent, keeping the weapon only touching Hela's bare skin. He wishes she would step away, but she seems almost careless in the face of all of this.

"_Yes."_

To his surprise, it isn't only his voice that says the word. Thor's chimes in, too, and Loki looks up. His brother barely holds eye contact for a fleeting moment before he's returned it to Brunnhilde. Loki's gaze lingers a moment longer than he means for it to, but he can't stop staring at the eye-patch. It's horrendously out of place. Wrong. He looks too much like Odin now, and Loki is more disgusted by this than he cares to admit outloud.

Brunnhilde makes a scoffing noise. Loki clenches his jaw harder before slowly pulling Brunnhilde's arm back, twisting it enough that the Dragonfang is no longer touching Hela. The Valkyrie fights him, but he manages to claim the upper hand, grabbing the weapon when it falls from her grip.

"Hela is not to be harmed." Thor says firmly, stepping next to Loki. "She's…"

Not a guest, not a prisoner, not a friend. Not family. _What _is _she?_

"A murderer?" Brunnhilde challenges. "Insane? Deranged? _Wicked?"_

"Unimpressed by your insults?" Hela offers with a cheeky smile. Loki's teeth set and he glances towards her face for a moment. Can she not see the _seriousness _of this? She could get executed for saying the wrong thing and she's completely careless of it. "Honestly, my dear. As your High Commander I'd been expecting—"

"You are _not_ High Commander anymore," Brunnhilde snaps, twisting her forearm in Loki's death grip. Her other arm goes for her belt where a dagger is resting, but Thor snatches her wrist before she can draw it. She's getting loose, and Loki can't get a grip strong enough to hold her. "You haven't been since you betrayed Asgard, you wretch!" Brunnhilde finishes angrily.

"Mmm." Hela's head tips, a dangerous smile tugging at her lips.

"Alright, _enough!" _Thor commands and forcefully drags the Valkyrie away from their sister. "None of this is her fault. Stop trying to kill her—or cause bodily harm."

"What do you—" Brunnhilde starts to come back, but stops at Banner's quiet, "Brunnhilde, please." Her mouth snaps shut, but her eyes are alight with fire. She releases a loud breath, clearly frustrated, but stops struggling. Loki flicks a glance towards the doctor before lifting it up towards the council.

The six remaining members are still, gaze fluttering back and forth between Brunnhilde and Hela. Loki bites back a groan of frustration and exhales stiffly. This is a mess, and it's not one that will clean itself up.

"I, for one, agree with the Valkyrie." Lord Arkenson murmurs. "We shouldn't let the bringer of _Ragnarok _stay alive. We're only condemning ourselves and our families to the very death we tried to escape!"

Several other council members voice similar statements and Loki feels a wave of ire pass through him. "It has been six days since we boarded. Do you honestly believe that if Hela was going to murder any of us, she would have waited this long?" he questions rhetorically.

They don't need to know she wasn't exactly in a state to _be _committing the murders a few days ago, because it's beside the point.

The council members share an uneasy stare anyway.

"I'm not actively seeking any of your deaths. Content?" Hela asks sharply. "The only reason I'm _here _is because your prince—" she points towards him as if he's condemning evidence "—dragged me into this."

"Would rather I'd let Surtur kill you?" Loki demands, whirling around to face her. Hela laughs quietly.

"I know that's what _you _want." She says with teeth. "So glad to have been reunited with my happy family. You really did do me a service, you know that?"

The words sting. Loki bites at his lower lip and his hands fist by his sides. He's not going to hit her. He has half a mind to, but he's not going to actually do it. It won't settle anything with the curia regis if he grabs her by her throat and rattles her several times. It might give him some peace of mind, but that's it.

He just thought that—

"_You _brought this demoness onto the ship?" Lady Pettidottir asks. Her voice is barely audible, but Loki feels any remaining color drain from his face at it. _Great. And now there's that. _He's barely spent two minutes with them in the room and he has already settled his place in their minds as the enemy. Again. This is why claiming the throne without a guise would have been impossible.

They all hate him.

Loki is the stain on Asgard's sinless state, and they're ashamed of it. They'd sooner pin all their imperfections onto him than _try _to change themselves. And it's going to start all over again. _He thought he was doing the right thing._

"Of course he did." Lord Vili sneers. "Can't help but make our problems worse, could you boy?"

Loki sputters, trying to grasp some semblance of control and not let the words dig as deep as they're going. "I _saved _you," he defends (grasps at, because he's beginning to drown and there's nothing to pull him up.) "The _Statesman _wouldn't have been the salvation for any of you if I hadn't—"

"None of this would have been a problem if _you _hadn't decided to awaken Surtur in the first place!" Lord Arkenson snaps. "_Or _thrown Odin from the throne four years ago. If he'd been here, then we would have been better prepared for Hela's assault. My daughter nearly _died _because she was willing to remove heads to get what she wanted. If Atla's beloved hadn't been there—"

"That's hardly _my _fault—"

"You got our king murdered!"

"You started Ragnarok!"

"Our king _and queen_ are dead because of your actions, _my prince_, there is no defense to your actions, Liesmith—"

"_SHUT UP!"_

All of them whip their heads in Thor's direction, and Loki feels his teeth click together. His older brother has released Brunnhilde and is storming up towards them, expression dark. "_None _of that was my brother's fault. If you want to blame someone for my mother's death, start with _me."_

Loki's tongue tangles in his mouth. It's dry. He forces a out a breath, trying to get words to come out. Their mother's death had nothing to do with Thor. If Loki hadn't told the Kursed where to go—_you directed him to the shield generator, not Frigga's private chambers—_than maybe…

"This has nothing to do with the All-Mother." Lady Pettidottir snaps. She jerks a finger out towards him. "_He _is the reason for this mess. If he started Ragnarok, _but _saved the monster, why should we trust him? Your siblings have brought nothing but heartache and sorrow to Asgard's gate. They can't be permitted to stay."

_Everywhere you go there is war, ruin, and death._

"And what would you have me do?" Thor's words are hissed through clenched teeth. "They are still subjects of Asgard, and I am still your _king."_

Lord Arkenson scoffs audibly, and Loki glances towards him, eyes narrowing. Trust, Loki has learned, is not something to be taken for granted. There is none between this lord and his brother. Thor needs the support of the curia regis if he wants to be successful in his reign, and that's only going to get harder if he keeps messing up. (If Loki keeps placing him in a position to mess up.)

"An execution?" Brunnhilde's voice is hopeful.

"_No." _Thor says sharply. "I'm not killing or _letting _either of them be killed." Heavy, weighted silence settles over the gathered. It's uncomfortable and the air feels as though it's getting thinner with the judgement. Loki's fists clench at his sides, sedir swirling through his fingers at his unease. It burns, touching at the unhealed areas in his hands.

"I agree with the king," Heimdall interjects into the otherwise silent room. All eyes lift to him. "Execution should not be the first solution to every problem."

As if Asgard _knows _another solution.

Lord Vili sputters. "That's _hardly _what we were suggesting, Gatekeeper!"

"I didn't hear you say anything before," Banner points out quietly. His voice is wary and his stance even more so. Loki doesn't know if he's seen another man who looks out of place everywhere he's put in. At least it's better than the beast. Banner is...tentative compared to the other one. Loki stops, frazzled as he realizes what Banner is _doing._

Helping Heimdall defend Hela, _and him. _Banner has no reason for this. The disaster Loki made of New York alone gives him plenty of reason to be rooting for a double execution. (Is it _just _Hela's, or his as well? Does it matter?)

Lord Vili turns a sharp stare on the Midgardian, but he holds his ground.

"Look," Thor's voice slurs slightly, the only verbal evidence—as of yet—of his lack of lucidity. "You have no proof _on the Statesmen _that my siblings intend us harm, my brother especially. If he wanted us dead, he wouldn't have returned back to Asgard—" fair enough "—so until they _do _something to earn your mistrust, leave them be."

"How can we—?" Lady Pettidottir starts.

"Because _your king _requested it of you." Heimdall interrupts sharply. "You trusted Asgard to him not a few days past, will you now go back on that? Odin left his people to his son; if you do not respect his last wishes, why exactly _were _you on his council?"

The gatekeeper's words hang in the air, heavy and baring uncomfortable truth. Loki feels his expression lift some, impressed. Heimdall may be a man of few words, but those he does speak are not to be passed over. The curia regis stand still for a moment, visibly tense and tight before Lord Arkenson huffs muttering a dark "_as you wish, gatekeeper" _under his breath and turns stalking out of the room. The other five follow, but Banner, Heimdall and Brunnhilde remain.

Thor turns, swaying and Loki's hand lifts slightly as if to steady him, but he's too far away. "Brunnhilde," Thor stumbles over the word, "well I respect your loyalty, I...I think it would be best if you left."

_Sky's Tears. That was _her. When he met her—learned of her desertion through her memories—he hadn't expected her to be someone high ranking. He'd honestly thought she'd just be a soldier, someone who was affected by the loss and slaughter of Hela and ran. That was it. Hadn't thought...hadn't _dreamed—_

The former general stands there for a second, tense, before she shakes her head. "No thanks, I think I'll remain here and handle the problem."

A frustrated breath hisses out between Thor's teeth and Loki manages to find his voice again. "I think my brother made himself clear, scrapper." Loki keeps his tone level. "_Get out."_

Brunnhilde's gaze lifts, a fire burning behind her irises. "You aren't my prince, Lackey. You don't have any say in what I do. _Be quiet."_

Loki's jaw snaps together. He could say something nasty in return, but what would be the point? She's said plenty. Loki can't get his tongue to work right.

Hela, who had remained still for so long Loki had almost forgotten she was here, takes a half step forward. Brunnhilde's fists raise in defense, but she has no weapon in hand. Loki's still holding it from when he disarmed her. Hela lifts her hands and makes a shooing motion with her fingers. "Go on then. I'm not afraid of execution, darling, and I think you'll find the things I could do to you before they stop me drastically uncomfortable."

Loki glances towards Thor's face for a second, but his brother is focused on their sister.

Brunnhilde huffs angrily, tight, and walks towards him, hand outstretched. He stares at her and she sighs, rolling her eyes with annoyance. "My sword, you idiot. _Give me." _Loki thrusts it towards her, but keeps a firm grip around the handle when she grabs the top of the hilt.

"If this is used to impale me or anyone I know for the next twenty four hours you'll regret it." Loki promises, releasing the hilt and shoving her slightly.

Brunnhilde's eyes are hard. "I was trying to help, you know. You could _try _to be a little nicer."

"My apologies. The next time you desire to murder someone in cold blood I'll weep with my gratitude." Loki promises dryly, gesturing towards the door with one hand pointedly. Brunnhilde stands there for a second, her mouth opening like she wants to say something before she snaps it closed and releases an annoyed hiss. She stalks out.

Banner sighs quietly. "I'll talk with her." He offers. Thor nods and the Avenger slips from the room, leaving just him, his siblings and Heimdall. Undeterred by the gatekeeper's presence, Hela grabs his upper arm and Loki coils beneath the touch. Thor shifts, the smell ozone washing across the room thickly.

"You _cretin." _Hela seethes. "Why would you _do _that? You almost got yourself killed. You should have let her take my head. Would have saved you the blood."

Common sense dictates he remains still, but ghosts of his mind scream in panic. Loki struggles in the grip, but can't seem to get loose. He forces his words to be steady, "What would have been the point of that? Despite how much you may hate this idea, we _are _family."

_No, they're not._

_Loki's family is on Jotunheim, a race of monsters. Like him._

_But it's nice to pretend._

"_Asgard does not know mercy." _Hela growls between her teeth. "Bloodlines mean nothing in that regard. Do you think this is all some sort of _game? _No matter how many times you save my life, it does not make us _friends." _She hisses the word out as if it physically disgusts her. "You may be my brother, but we are _not _family."

Loki's teeth set. Her tone is hard and Loki's arm trembles beneath her touch. The burn in between his shoulders digs deeper. He still can't get free. Thor is tense and tight like a spring behind them, but he's too intoxicated to be of much help. Memories tug at the forefront of his mind, begging to clasp all of his attention between their greedy fingers.

_No._

Not now.

_—You think you know pain?_

"Let go." Loki tries to speak firmly, but his voice is barely above a whisper. Hela's nails only dig into his upper arm further. Loki flinches, mouth parting as words catch in his throat. The burn worsens, the crack of a whip stinging in his ears. "_Let go."_

"No! Don't you know the disaster you've created? All that's going to happen is my murder now. Or public execution. The curia regis has final say if the king isn't in his right mind. They'll call it for our brother. Do you really—"

"_Let. Go."_

"—believe that your stupid, simple action is going to change anything that happens? You're such an arrogant little—"

Loki grabs her forearm with his other hand and squeezes tightly, unintentionally sending a jolt of raw sedir down her bloodstream. Curses. This would have never happened before he fell. But now? Hela jerks back before her expression tightens and she snatches a hand out and grabs a fistful of his hair—

_The Sanctuary smells like blood. It always does. He can't keep himself upright anymore. There's blood pooling between his shoulder blades. A hand grabs him by his scalp and drags him—_

—tossing him towards the floor. Loki goes without restraint, suddenly unable to keep himself upright and Thor seems to snap. He lets out a roar of rage and tackles their older sister towards the ground. Loki inhales through his teeth, trying to breathe as Hela's head smacks against the metal plated floor with a crack.

"Don't touch him!" Thor shouts, slamming a fist against the woman's face.

Loki breathes.

Out.

In.

_Do something. You're the diplomat. Stop them before they kill each other._

His body trembles, a haunted melody singing through his head with vigor. He hasn't been injured like this—the Kursed hardly counts. A single stab, _the blade was poisoned you fool, _is nothing—since...since before. He needs to keep his head. He won't be of any use to _anyone _if he keeps this fretting up.

Get up.

The sounds of violence are getting worse. A hand suddenly grabs at his forearm, and Loki flinches, but it's only Heimdall. "My prince?" the gatekeeper murmurs softly in question. Loki stares up at him with wide eyes, not understanding this _gentleness._

This man _hates _him.

Thor. Hela. Murder.

Loki scrambles up, using Heimdall for more of a support than he cares to admit and whirls, preparing to drag the two apart forcefully—he has no idea what he's doing. The only fights he's seen the two get into since the Bifrost have been verbal—but he needn't have worried. Thor grabs the wrong part of Hela's arm to halt her dagger from slamming into his throat and she lets out a wail, dropping the weapon entirely.

Loki flinches at the raw noise, breath exploding from his chest.

Thor releases her immediately, his eyes going wide. "I'm sorry," he sputters as Hela slams onto her hands and knees with one hand, clutching her arm against her chest, panting. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I hadn't—"

"_Save it." _Hela hisses. There's blood dripping down from her nose. Thor's lip is split open and he's sporting a new cut along his cheek. Bruises are blossoming on Hela's face. She seems to have come out worse for wear between the two.

"Oh, Norns. I didn't do that, did I? I wasn't trying—" Thor starts to explain. Fumbles to a stop when Hela shoots him a dirty look.

Loki finds his feet again. Moves. He squats down next to her. Thor rarely has control over his strength when he's angry. (_Thor was trying to protect him. Him. Didn't that instinct die on a Midgardian tower when Loki stuffed a dagger into his gut?) _His fists speak his mind. Painfully.

"Let me see." Loki demands, lifting out his hand expectantly. Hela's scowl shifts from Thor to him, teeth setting audibly. He expects her to do nothing, but she shoves up, sitting on her heels and lifts her left hand out to him with obvious disdain and reluctance.

Thor fidgets, clearly unsure where to put his energy.

Loki breathes out. Ignores the burn of the wounds. Rolls up the sleeve and stares at the nasty wound again. The infection Loki had managed to gather on the edges Thor squeezed back into the center. Blood is pooling down the length of Hela's thin, pale forearm.

Thor swears under his breath, kneeling down next to them. Hela glances at him once, but does nothing further to state her discomfort. Loki sighs between his teeth and smacks Thor's hand away when he tries to reach for it. Trained by Eir Thor may be, provoking Hela into shoving something sharp where it doesn't go naturally isn't going to help.

"Don't." Loki snaps.

"I want to help." Thor states, looking helpless. Loki gathers the edges of his frayed patience together and glances back at Heimdall. The gatekeeper is still standing there, head tilted and eyes slightly narrowed. Loki resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. This is _not _helping their case at all. Heimdall is _on _the curia regis. Any word he spreads will hold weight, and the word he's going to say is that _two seconds after they were left alone, they tried to kill each other. Seemed like a regular occurrence._

"Then let me work." Loki barely keeps his voice below a shout. Thor clamps his mouth shut, wisely, and shifts back a little. Relieved at the minor breathing room, Loki spreads the infection out with his sedir again before slowly beginning to draw it out. Hela's breathing grows sharp for a moment, but she makes no other noise of discomfort.

The infection sort of taken care of, Loki draws the chemicals together for water from the air and snaps them together. He pours this over the blood and squints, noting something he hadn't before. What on the _Nine _is…?

He reaches a hand out and physically starts to put a thin finger between her skin to the open wound a little where the muscle is squirming. There's something black sitting there, but it's flecking with the edges of dark metal. Dwarf metal. _In her arm._

What—

Hela's other hand snatches his wrist before he can touch at anything. Thor flinches, shifting. "Don't touch it." She hisses under her breath.

"What _is _it?" Loki demands, snapping his arm back. He looks up at her face. It's placid. Blank.

"It needs stitches. Didn't you say that?" Hela counters instead, obviously attempting to change the subject. "My arm is splitting in half. Unless this is your cruel attempt at punishing me, I'd rather you fix that."

Loki flinches.

This isn't punishment. He was trying to—stop it. Loki's stomach squirms at the idea of needles, his mouth and back ghosting with a phantom pain and he looks up at their sibling. "Get a needle and thread and handle it, will you?"

Thor stares at him as Hela sputters. "What are—?"

Loki lifts up his shaking hands, hating to have to admit to this, but it's evidence enough. His hands tremble visibly and he feels all three pairs of eyes in the room linger on them. Heimdall is behind them. Right. "Do you think I can sew her skin together with this?" Loki demands rhetorically.

Thor is quiet for a long moment. "No."

He represses a flinch. Loki bites on his tongue, shoving his response down. Eats the words, because there's no use for them to come out. He gathers up, draws himself from the floor. Tries to remember how to stand properly. How to breathe.

The ghosts of his mind haunt on, laughing at his misery.

_You think you know pain? He will—_

000o000

"How much?" he demands harshly, hand grabbing at Thor's upper arm. "You're barely standing. Do you have liver poisoning?"

Thor's face heats with embarrassment. "Sss not that-tha-tbad." He promises. Loki lifts an eyebrow in disbelief and squints at Thor's face. His eyes are fidgeting back and forth and it's not just because of the liquor. Exhaustion. Norns, Thor probably hasn't slept since they clambered aboard the _Statesmen._

He's such an idiot.

Loki sighs and tightens his grip on Thor's shoulder, dragging him back towards the L-shaped couch he and Hela have spent far to much time on since their arrival. Thor stumbles, making noises of protest and confusion, but Loki ignores him, shoving him down on the piece of uncomfortable, barely-used furniture.

Thor goes without complaint.

"When was the last time that you slept?" Loki demands. "Are you _capable_ of taking care of yourself?"

"Yes." Thor snaps. "Norns. Don't _coddle _me."

Loki lifts his hands up in defense, biting down. _Are you capable of holding your tongue for two seconds?_ "Fine. Forgive me."

Thor sighs heavily, peaks his eye open and catches Loki's stare with a heavy one of his own. "I'm sorry. That slipped out."

_That doesn't help._

"It's fine." Loki lies in assurance. He smiles, trying to add weight to the words, but it won't hold.

"I'm just—just," an insane sounding giggle slips through his brother's lips and he presses his hands against his mouth as if he's revealed a great secret. Loki sighs, rubbing at a headache forming on the front of his skull. He swipes dark hair away from his face. "Just—justy…" Thor slurs.

"You need to sleep." He says firmly. "Go to bed, Asgard will still be here when you wake up."

"'Sgard's gone, Loki," Thor mumbles, "it's not gonna come back this time. Will you let me know when I wake up? I don't like this dream anymore."

Something clenches in his chest, the plea a familiar one as of late to him. Loki keeps his lips pressed together. Can't get anything past them. They're sealed like a barrier. Thor breathes out steadily and tips onto his side, curling into a fetal position with his back pressed against the couch. It's a defensive posture, which shows the extent of trust he has for all of them.

Loki's teeth grit together.

He's made a mess of all of this, hasn't he?

That taken care of he turns slowly. Hela is watching him through narrowed eyes, stuffed into the small corner of the "L". Her legs are tugged up close to her chest and her left hand hidden behind her knees, but there's a confused squint near the edges of her eyes.

His first instinct is to demand _what _and push her until she speaks, but he doesn't. He pulls his gaze away from her with effort and lifts to Heimdall. The gatekeeper is still standing there, watching the three of them as if he has a _right _to invade this small space they've been trapped in for days. Maybe he does. Who would _he _be to know? (He's _always watching.)_

"What are you doing here?" Loki questions him.

Heimdall's yellow eyes settle on his face. Loki buries a shudder that passes down his spine. Heimdall's voice is hard, "Do you really believe me foolish enough to leave the three of you alone, _with the bringer of Asgard's destruction, _and be unable to see you?"

_Which one? Which bringer? Him or Hela? Him or Thor? All of them? None?_

"Yes." Loki grits out between his teeth.

"It is my duty to guard the head of Asgard, my prince." Heimdall says softly.

A laugh threatens to bubble out of him, but Loki swallows it to a mere scoff. "Yes, and you've done so well with that. Truly, I'm impressed." Heimdall opens his mouth, looking prepared to protest, but Loki shakes his head. "No. Don't. You nearly took my head _when I was your king—" _stops. Exhales. Realizing this doesn't matter. It's not _present. _"My brother hasn't slept in days. Our sister and I have been locked up here, unable to attend to him. What excuse do _you _have? If you're so intent on keeping us safe, rather than ensuring your rank, you would have stopped his self destructive cycle."

Heimdall's jaw gains a tic.

Loki's lips stretch into a nasty smile. "Get out."

"My position has no meaning to me." Heimdall insists. "I was willing to give it up for your brother without a second thought when Malekith attacked. Why do you _insist _on twisting us all up to be the villain, Loki? I want to _help."_

"And I don't want to be under your debt." Loki counters sharply. The weight of Hela's stare on his back is beginning to make his shoulders draw together. "I know how this works. No one wants to help me unless they want something else in return. I'm exhausted gatekeeper, I don't want to bargain with you."

Heimdall's lips press together in a thin line. His voice is solemn. "My intentions were nothing of the sort. I hope one day that you'll be able to see that."

Loki sputters out some sort of intelligible noise, but Heimdall is already leaving. The door closes behind him. The only noise is the air hissing into the room from the small vents and the ragged breathing of his siblings.

No.

Just him.

They're quiet. He's not.

000o000

The Tesseract weighs on his mind like a physical presence. It claws at the edges, demanding some of his attention and Loki remembers how much he hates Infinity Stones. (Remembers the Mind Stone and how it felt for its needles to crawl through his head, grabbing at everything and tearing.) He hadn't had another option. With Surtur rising so quickly, Loki wouldn't have had any time to run, he had to take it.

It was only for that.

_(If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no—)_

Nothing else.

He knows that Hela doesn't remember what happened when he grabbed her, because she mentions nothing of the Infinity Stone he's carrying in his cache. It's been days, and she would have said something by now. The Cube settles there like a weight, a constant companion always ranting of mistreatment. Of power.

Loki remembers trying to run back to the ship. Remembers assuring himself that the Tesseract was a precaution and once he'd touched the edge of the machinery he'd throw it out into the open space, give the Master something to chase after. But he'd stood there for a moment too long, dithering before he tried to teleport again and then—

Hela's face, full of panic, rage and an exhaustion so deep it seemed to dye her eyes had looked up at Surtur. And something in him had—

Loki twists around in the small washroom, looking at the fading, murky mirror on the wall above the sink. It's covered in grime and hardly deserving of its namesake, but it's the best they have. Loki stares at the burned, rippled flesh over his shoulder and blinks several times, breathing. He'd bodily tackled Hela out of the way and took the worst of the onslaught of flames for her.

This is what fruits he has labored for.

More scars.

Layers to add on top of what happened after he fell. One of the worst of the scars from the Master, a jagged long line down his spine from the base of his neck to the middle of his back, is buried almost completely beneath these blisters and broken patches.

It hurts. Norns, it hurts, but Loki can't do anything about it. His sedir is keeping him upright. Moving. Functional. Irritable because it doesn't numb the pain, but without it he'd be a wheezing mess on the floor. There isn't time for that.

It wasn't instant incineration, but is this better? It was charred, flaking skin a few days ago.

This is better.

It's supposed to be better.

Loki awkwardly wraps what he can from this angle and pulls his shirt over his head again, wiping hair away from his face. When he leaves the confines of the small washroom, he's going to have to face everything again. He doesn't know if he's ready. (_Coward. Yes. Well, what else is new?)_

He stares at his sickly, gaunt reflection. His eyes are shadowed, his hair glimmering with sweat, and there's a patch of burned flesh near his ear that's sticking out. Beyond that, he looks normal. Fine.

Sick. Tired. But _well._

000o000

"I'm starving." Thor declares almost fourteen hours after entering his near-comatose. Loki doesn't look up from the paper he's scribbling on top of with a near ancient quill he found stuffed into one of the drawers of the room. Hela stole some of the spare paper he found and has been steadily running it between her fingers as if attempting to smooth out wrinkles.

Every so often her hand will twitch and the paper still, but she always keeps going. She's folded it a few times, as if slowly making her way into finishing a paper craft.

"What do you want us to do about it?" their sister mutters. "Shall cut off what remains of my hair and give it to you to feast on?"

"No." Thor sounds exasperated. He sits up properly in the corner of Loki's gaze and runs a tired hand through his hair. He seems to have slept off the worst of the hangover—a remarkable feat, given how much he'd had to drink—and his body has now decided the biggest concern is refueling the expended energy.

Not much of a surprise. Sedir is all too happy to do this.

"The Asgardians have food." Thor says slowly. "I haven't been able to bring you anything. You must be hungry, too. We...we could attempt to gather rations from the public."

Loki's quill skids across the paper, ruining the messy paragraph he'd been scribbling out. "Are you _serious?" _Loki twists around the face him properly. "How do you even know that Heimdall and the council will have explained about..._this?"_

Thor lifts an eyebrow. "Can you see them keeping quiet?"

"Well, no, but still—"

"We can't hide in here forever," Thor sounds desperate. _Oh, we can try. _"I was a fool to think that this would last until we got to Midgard. Or...or whatever my fantasies had drawn up. It was ridiculous. Are you honestly that afraid of our _people?"_

Loki's teeth press together. He's not. He swears he's not. It's just…

Hela sighs heavily, tossing the piece of paper in hand onto the table. "He's right. Get up. I'm not staying in this room for the rest of my existence."

000o000

Loki only did a brief once-over of the _Statesmen _when he took it. He'd shoved as much supplies, including money, he'd thought they'd need inside, but had then been far more focused on getting to Asgard in one piece than he was the layout of the ship. It's far smaller than it seemed at first, but maybe that's because with more people the space gets thinner.

The Asgardians they pass watch them with wide, wary eyes. A few mothers tug their children close and Loki sees Hela's indifferent expression flicker with something he can't quite determine. She says nothing. She doesn't egg any of their fears forward, doesn't laugh at their terror. She simply walks. Loki keeps his head tucked as much as he can, well aware that the curia regis or Brunnhilde, Heimdall—whoever it was that told the news of them—didn't paint him in a bright light.

Why would they?

This _is _all his fault.

Ragnarok bringer after all. (_Everywhere you go there is war, ruin and death.)_

Thor shoves into the communal area—a large, overpopulated space with far too cheerful of a color scheme—and manages to gather portions of the ration for them, squishing into a small corner that's some-what unoccupied. Hela sits on the window sill, rubbing the food between two fingers as she stares at nothing.

Loki can't stand the thought of stomaching anything, even though he knows he should eat. The amount of energy he expended to heal his wounds after Surtur wasn't little. It has to come from somewhere, and Loki needs to refuel. But the food tastes like ash in his mouth and settles like a bloating brick in his stomach. Heavy. Compressed.

"It's not poisoned." Thor says dryly, looking between the two of them after long drawn-out stillness. "You can eat it."

He could, but he probably won't. Someone else could use the food more than him anyway. Maybe he can convince one of the children to take it, they might not hate him yet. Their elders would be laughable, but what can be done?

Thor sighs, apparently realizing he's not going to get anywhere with them and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look. I have already spent too much time away, so I need to get up and actually do my duty as king—" he's done nothing _but _that since this whole affair began, and if Loki wasn't...wasn't _him _then maybe he could take some of the weight off of Thor's shoulders. He can't. He's so hopelessly _Loki._ "—But I think you should eat something. Grab some water, at least."

And then what? Pray their problems fix themselves?

That always works.

Thor gets up to his feet, and Loki sends him a disapproving scowl. "You need to lay down. You're hardly better off than either of us." Loki counters, gesturing vaguely between himself and their silent sister. "Asgard can make due without a king for a few more hours."

Thor shakes his head. "I've already wasted enough time. They don't need my selfishness."

"What about your self preservation?" Loki argues. All they've done is argue since Loki stepped foot on the _Statesmen _and he's exhausted with it, but he can't seem to stop. He's mouthing. Always mouthing. Thor's going to get tired of it, too.

"Brother. It's just a few hours." Thor protests.

"The only reason your body awakened was so you would feed it." Hela's input is surprising, but not unwelcome. Loki lifts his gaze up to her. He hadn't expected her to say anything. _To care. _Just remain sitting there like she's mimicking something that's died. "You would do well not to ignore that."

Thor looks between the two of them. His jaw sets. "My needs can wait."

No. They can't. But Loki isn't going to fight him on it. Let him pass out somewhere, maybe it will brand this idea into the Asgardian's head properly. Everything Loki has said for years has done nothing to trod on his brother's insatiable stubbornness.

Hela's mouth opens like she's preparing for another bout, but Loki shakes his head subtly in her direction. Her jaw snaps shut.

Thor leaves a few moments later.

Neither of them touch the ration.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are going to be set up like one-shots, just so you know, which is why they're so massive. I find pacing the story like this helps keep me motivated to keep going. Sorry for the excessive lengthy-ness. ;) 
> 
> Next chapter: October. Sometime. We'll see. ;) Thanks so much for your support, really, I promise I've treasured it. :)


	3. Not Very Good At Keeping Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I split a chapter in half. If you're looking for the new update, please see chapter 5. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors. Didn't have the motivation to edit this one quite as extensively as normal.
> 
> Warnings: Slight violence, vague suicide idealization, brief mention of self harm, PTSD, anxiety attacks. Please take care of yourselves, my stars!
> 
> Warnings: BLOOD. (Not like, gore, but there is blood. Further explanation, this is my attempt at a sort-of Hallows Eve special, so think vampires.), some violence, panic attack.

Hela stares at him, eyebrows raised with some disbelief. Her angled face is etched with clear disagreement and Loki bites at his tongue, realizing that if he intends to go through with this, it's going to be a fight to get her to agree.

"You can't be _serious." _Hela states flatly. She shifts, resting a hand on her hip—her right, he notes, almost distantly, she has kept her left tucked close to her stomach or chest since Thor finished the stitches— "The only thing that will happen is someone's murder."

Loki blows out a breath through his teeth. "Aren't you all for that?"

_Don't encourage her. _The voice sounds startlingly like Frigga's. Loki waves it off, shifting forward and baiting her. Hela smiles with teeth, lacking the laughter of a proper smile. Loki doesn't think he's ever seen her genuinely smile. He doesn't even know if she's _capable._

"Oh, darling. I don't mean _mine." _Hela promises.

Loki's teeth set and he rests his head in his hand, rubbing at his forehead for a second. "What else are you going to do?"

"Avoid the general population." Loki raises an eyebrow. Hela rolls her eyes, but he can see the edges of her gaze losing some of their tightness. She's seeing the reason in his argument, though she won't admit it. A heavy sigh, and then: "And what exactly are you going to _do_, little brother?"

He represses a flinch at the term. "_We." _Loki corrects. "And whatever Eir needs us to. They have a shortage of healing aids. I can spare my sedir—" _what's left of it_ "—for the next few days. At least until we reach the port. That's in two days according to Thor. You can survive two days."

Hela's expression smooths over and she tightens her right hand into fist. She says nothing.

Tentatively, Loki pushes forward, "I'm not stupid enough to leave you by yourself, but I'm going stir crazy. Unless you want to spend the next few hours with Thor, I'd recommend you swallow your pride and come with me."

Hela's eyes snap up and her jaw gains a visible tic. "Threats aren't going to make me agree."

_Fine._

"No." Loki agrees, moving towards the door of the communal area. Food failed, but Loki had been struck with an idea when he realized how much he doesn't want to go back into that room. It has yet to be determined whether this is a product of genius, or his desperation. Most likely the latter. His mind is an infected wound.

Good things don't really come from it anymore.

He jams his elbow against the button to open it and notes with some margin of tired satisfaction that Hela follows after him. Her body is tense with visible disagreement and she looks ready to kill something, but she stays quiet as she silently slinks after him.

She matches paces with him after a few quick strides and grabs at his shoulder. Loki's entire body tenses at her touch. Her fingers are freezing, but oddly sharp. "Let me make one thing clear to you," Hela starts lowly, "you are _not _my keeper. If you really want to keep pushing at this, I'll skin you alive."

Loki hesitates for a second, only a second, and then snips in return, "Do better, sister. I've had far worse than that."

Hela's expression flinches. Her jaw regains its ever-annoyed tic and she sweeps her gaze up and down him as if looking for evidence to back his statement. Loki presses his lips together, reminds himself that he has a few inches of height on her, and storms forward again, wiggling out of her grip with ease. The scars he bears to confirm that statement aren't for her gawking (aren't for anyone's).

Loki manages to track down Madame Eir with relative ease. The Asgardians are still staring at them, a deathly silent disapproving mass, but Loki keeps his gaze pinned forward and refuses to let it flick around the room and assess everything. He'd rather not know what everyone's thinking if it can be avoided.

There's an alarmingly large section of the _Statesmen _dedicated to the injured or unwell. It smells as he was expecting: antiseptic and stale. Neither helps the nausea spinning in his stomach.

The walls are a faint orange with white trim wrapped around the top as a border, but it still feels bare and lifeless. Lights are buzzing from the ceiling at their full capacity, giving a gritty feeling to the room, which in turn adds to the lifelessness. Despite this obnoxious lighting, it doesn't seem to be enough for the healers; he can spot some magical shards floating through the air acting as smaller, more focused bulbs of light. It's unpleasant. The room is large, but feels smaller from the people littered across the floor.

Many of them are adults, but he spots a few sickly children towards the edges being gently caressed by either their parents or one of the healers. There are whispered conversations being spoken between the ill, but none seem able to raise their voices loud enough for the sound to be pulsing. There are no cots, no mattresses, nothing but the cold, barren ground and a thin blanket for the ill and injured.

It reminds him of a battlefield of fallen warriors, and Loki exhales softly. He processes this in about three seconds before taking another step into the room, keeping a steady hand against the doorframe for support. He feels eyes flick up to him, and does his best to ignore it, searching among the sea of heads for Eir's familiar head and finds it after a few moments.

The head healer rises up to her feet and greets them in the doorway, sweeping her gaze up and down the length of both of them, lips thinned together tightly. Her dark, graying hair is swept out of her eyes and it makes the contrasting shadows of exhaustion on her face all the more prominent.

"Prince Loki," she greets crisply.

Loki gives a slight nod in response, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her. Half a step behind is his sister, eyes roving over the Asgardians with an air of clear detachment. Idly, he wonders if she even _cares _that most of these injuries are her fault. (_It's not_, some quietly snide part of him corrects. _The army did more damage than she did.)_ Probably not. She's a decent being like that. _As if you're one to talk._

"What can I do?" he questions. He doesn't bother asking for permission. Knows that it doesn't matter to Eir, because there are far too little aids running to and fro in the room.

The head healer sighs and waves him forward, eyes lingering on Hela for a long second. Apparently deciding that she's either not a threat, or not worth the effort of worrying about for the moment, Eir settles her gaze on his face. Loki crosses the distance between the two of them and comes to a stop in front of the patient she's tending to.

It's a young man with a nasty wound spreading up his forearm. It's infected and weeping pus in an almost frantic manner. Loki remembers the yellowing fuzz on his own wounds and feels something in his stomach roll. Remembering that he's seen worse doesn't really help.

The young man's eyes stare up at him, unblinking.

"Handle this." Eir says and gestures to the wound. "There's at least six others with the same problem. He swears it was only a small gash from the Hela's army, but the skin is rotting on the inside." The head healer tilts the wound towards him and Loki's lips press together as he sees the decaying skin. "I'm suspecting the age of the swords the soldiers were using. The metal weeped of bacteria from the rotting bodies."

Loki shifts forward and kneels down in front of the Aesir, taking the arm from Eir's grasp. There's a slight flinch from the infected Asgardian, but he otherwise says nothing, eyes locked onto him. Loki ignores the stare as best he's able, looking back at the woman. "What have you been doing to treat it?"

"Draining the infection and then treating the wound as burn."

"And that's been working?" Loki questions dubiously. Skeptically. The woman trained him in the healing arts where Frigga couldn't, but some of the solutions she comes up with are...creative, to say the least. (Ridiculous).

Eir sighs. "Partially."

Loki hums under his breath and then gives a slight nod, dismissing her. Eir doesn't leave. She lingers for a moment more, obviously biting on a question before, "Is your brother aware you're here, my prince?"

Loki stops, looking up from the gash to the healer. In annoyance, but admittedly surprised by the title. He lost everything when he returned from New York six years ago, but she says it without any hesitation. Likely a slip of the tongue, then. He hasn't exactly had a surplus of interactions with the woman since before Thor's banishment.

Hela makes a slight noise in the back of her throat and Loki refuses to look at her. Forces words out, because that's how conversation works. "No. He's not. Why?"

"Just curious." Eir gives a tight-lipped smile. Before Loki can push, she rises up to her feet and squeezes between himself and his sister, likely moving to tend to the other infected. Loki draws breath in between his teeth and turns his attention back to the young man whose arm he's still holding.

"Hi." He says at last, lifting up a hand above the wound and waving spread fingers over area. It glows with the faint residue of his sedir and Loki feels at the area for a few moments more, prodding it with sorcery. The wound isn't pretty. The cells aren't regenerating as quickly as they need to be, almost as if they've been tampered with. Even burned, they should be making more progress than this. Eir was right, the infection needs to be drained first.

He won't be much use if he's drained his entire sedir supply before the day is up. He needs to get warm water, a cloth, needle and—

The young man makes a sort of squeak in response to Loki's earlier word. It's pitched enough that Loki's distracted and he looks up. Lifts his eyebrows expectantly.

"You're—_Loki. _The _prince." _The Aesir manages to get out with considerable effort. His accent is thick. He's not from the capital, Serenity. Probably past Speckle Point, but he could be from the northern regions of Frien.

"Yes." Loki agrees and looks back at his sister. She's still standing there, watching him with narrowed eyes. Her body is tense and Loki realizes with a sort of dull ache that the entire room has silenced at their presence. Loki has no idea how far word has passed in the last twenty hours since Brunnhilde's not-so-subtle discovery of them, but apparently enough. No one outright screamed when they stepped into the room, so at least there's that.

Still. The discomfort and unease is obvious.

This was a mistake.

He doesn't know why he thought he could be helpful. (Thought he could do something right to atone for the mess he's made of everything the last few days. (Years.))

He sets his teeth, refusing to back down. He's already dug himself this deep, how much further can he _go? (A long, long way.) _"Hela," she flicks her gaze towards him at her name, "find me some warm water, a needle, and a rag."

Her expression clouds with annoyance. For a moment, Loki believes she'll just stand there to spite him, but she sighs and moves out of his peripheral vision to locate the requested items. That taken care of, Loki returns his attention back to the young man's arm. He shifts it back and forth in the light and prods at a few more areas with sedir, electing a wince from him.

Loki doesn't apologize, keeping his tongue between his teeth.

Hela returns less than two minutes later, dumping the supplies on the ground and kneeling down next to him. Obviously discomforted at being in such close proximity to the both of them, the young man leans away. His eyes are so wide Loki is mildly afraid that they'll rupture.

Loki soaks the rag in the warm water and sets it on the top of the wound to start the infection-draining process.

He focuses on the wound, on putting the cells back together, because it's a familiar process he's done hundreds of times before. When he's finished with the young Aesir, Eir shoves him towards another. And then another. He and his sister settle into a semi-routine. She gathers the supplies he demands and holds anything he needs as he weaves the broken flesh back together, with both sedir and otherwise.

It's only when Loki's been here for several hours that he realizes that Banner is present as well, offering basic field dressing for several people and watching them saliently. Loki didn't realize the extent of the injured. He'd made educated guesses, but this is...it's more than he'd been expecting.

He and his sister work together for hours.

She doesn't say a word.

They run out of water before they exceed the amount of patients.

000o000

A sharp pain to his calf jars him awake. It's a fiery heat searing through his nerves, and Loki gives a jerked roll onto his stomach with surprise, breath exploding out of his chest. His hands raise to cover his head as his knees curl into his chest at the expectation of a blow. His eyes squeeze shut, his lungs seizing. Nothing comes.

"Loki."

Thor.

Not—not them.

Loki breathes out slowly. Unstiffens. He gathers the air in between his teeth and opens his eyes, pulling his hands away from his face and looks up towards the elder. Thor's expression is slightly tilted, as if confused, but he says nothing of Loki's reaction, thankfully.

"You were actually sleeping?" Thor sounds surprised.

"Yes." Loki's voice is crypt. More so than he meant for it to be. Eir had sent them off after they ran out of water and Thor had shoved him towards the room when it became apparent that Loki was going to fall over from exhaustion. Too much sedir and not enough energy to compensate for that. Loki didn't even make it to that vapid couch before his body gave up. "I can, from time to time, follow directions."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Certainly."

"_Loki."_

Loki scoffs audibly and Thor sighs, blowing out a breath in a clear attempt to gather his patience together. Loki swallows his words, digging his nails into his palms. The pressure rubs at old half-moon shaped wounds, breaking scabs.

"We're at Fire Sweets. The council is waiting for us." Thor continues, slower this time, as if afraid of Loki lashing out. (Like he's some sort of wild animal.) Loki puzzles at the name for a moment before remembering its the small trading post Heimdall had declared closest to their position.

Wait—_Us?_

Loki nods slowly, sitting up and trying not to show how much it hurts to do so. His back is screaming, but Loki hasn't had time to replace the bandages since a few days ago, and he's in no hurry to do it anyway. It's stupid, and unrealistic, to hope that the infection will take care of itself, but he's quietly hoping for it.

He doesn't want to look at his back. (Those nasty, grisly scars).

Loki's head tips and he sighs heavily before coming to a realization that the dark shadow he left with Thor is not following him as it should be. A swear tips on the edge of his tongue, but he lets it get caught in the back of his throat. He snaps his eyes to the blond. "Where's our sister?"

Thor doesn't freeze or turn around and release an expletive like Loki half expects him to. Instead, the barest edge of his lip twitches up. "Ah. She's, uh, with Heimdall."

_Heimdall?_

"Who's idea was _that?" _Loki can't help from escaping. He snaps his teeth together when he sees the doubt touch the edges of Thor's face. _Stop doing that. _Loki scrambles up off the ground beside that stupid L-shaped couch and has to hold steady until his vision stops spinning.

"Mine." Thor grumbles out at last. "I wanted to talk to you. Without her."

Loki can't help the way that his muscles clench, and is strangely ashamed of it. "What about?"

"Fire Sweets." His brother answers, shifting anxiously on his feet. The sight is odd, but not as much as it would have been six years ago. "Hela. Both?" He shakes his head. "I need you to help me make the trades and I don't want to drag her out there. She might kill someone, or we'll lose her—" _would that be such a terrible thing? "_—and any death she wields the hand of is on our heads now. I want to keep her on the ship. She can't do anything permanent here."

Loki nods in quiet agreement, seeing the reasoning. "_And?"_

Thor blows a raspberry. "I don't know how to tell her that. Or make it happen. Or who to leave to babysi—to watch her. Everyone wants her dead except for you and me."

The unspoken _and I don't even know if we don't want her dead _floats in the air like a blade ready for welding. Loki wisely doesn't grab at the hilt and start to swing it. Instead he chews at his inner lip and plays over Thor's words once more, pausing for a second longer on "_I need you" _because he hates how his stomach leaps with relief at those words. Thor hasn't discarded him. He's still useful. That's enough for now.

"Have you just told her this?" Loki asks, unable to come up with a creative way to phrase it. Hela is different than others. She could react with rage or apathy so heavy it bathes a room like a blanket. He's getting better at judgement, but those first few days weren't pleasant.

"Of course not. How well do you think she'll take the fact I'm basically telling her we don't trust her?" Thor counters.

Loki makes a face. "Brother, I'm fairly certain she knows that."

The elder fumbles for a moment. "Yes. But, still, Loki, I—I can't just...that's..._I can't."_

"Should I? We've already established I'm not a nice person." Loki snips out. Thor's face falls the slightest edge and Loki breathes in; swallows his enervating words to keep them down in the compressed gathering in his chest where they belong.

Before Thor can start to come up with a defense or find something to _say, _Loki shoves past him towards the hall. "I'll tell her, deal?" He saunters off before Thor can formulate a response, not awfully curious as to what it would be.

(Norns, he aches everywhere.)

He finds Heimdall and Hela stuffed into a small corner of the bridge. It's not a hard task, given that people are not-so-subtly giving the two a wide range of space. As Thor shoves his way to the front and awkwardly, but unintentionally, imposes on Lord Arkenson's rousing speech about how Asgard is saved and so forth, Loki squeezes in between people and comes to a stop in front of the two.

Hela's gaze sweeps up and down the length of him once as if quietly assessing his condition before lifting it up again to boredly stare in the curia regis's direction. Heimdall's gaze lingers on Loki's head.

"We need to talk." Loki says, keeping his voice low as to not garner any more attention than what is strictly necessary.

"Then talk." Hela says flatly. Her hand jerks slightly up. "Can't you see I'm invigorated in this man's rousing speech?"

Loki's teeth set, the urge to both laugh and scream tugging at him. He breathes out slowly, knowing that she's only attempting to get a rouse out of him. His voice is calm and even when he gets it out. "Of that I'm certain...listen, it's probably within our best interests if you remain on the _Statesmen _while we make the trade. You're…"

Hela's eyes narrow ever so slightly, daring him to finish that sentence.

He does. "Not exactly the best at negotiations."

Hela huffs, a slight quiver of her lip upwards. "Oh?"

"Your solution to Hofund was to slaughter everyone." Loki retorts, barely keeping back bite. Maybe he doesn't succeed. "That's not subtle. Or even effective. Until we can trust you to keep yourself in check, this will likely be a regular occurrence. I'd suggest you get used to it."

She doesn't scream. Doesn't shout or draw a weapon. Instead, Hela's head tips ever so slightly to the left as if she's thinking and the fingers of her right hand rub against the forearm of her other. Neither seem to be a conscious action. "Hmph." Is the only noise she makes for a long second. "Well. And who came to this decision? The council? Asgard—no. It was you and our brother."

Loki lifts his chin, trying to appear more confident than he feels. "We did."

Hela bares her teeth. It was meant to be a small smile, but that's not what it settles as. "Oh. Wonderful. One prison for another. A fitting trade, I suppose. My life has been made up of nothing more than them—" _No more than a stolen relic; locked up here, until you might have use of me? _"—and it was hopelessly childish of me to expect that to change."

Hela's expression grows clouded, dark, and then her head straightens, something heavy in her eyes. "I believe it's time we tested that theory, don't you?"

Wait—what?

_What theory!?_

Hela's energy seems to coil together before she releases something close to a screeching noise as if trying to gather as much attention as possible and tackles him to the floor. Unprepared, Loki goes down without a fight, his head smacking into the metal plating; his vision hiccuping for the briefest second as his back explodes with pain. A noise slips from his throat before Hela's dark hair falls over her shoulders and clouds his view.

Her hands wrap around his throat, squeezing.

_Fight back, you idiot!_

Her nails are digging into his skin and Loki feels a rush of foreign energy smash into his veins. It's not sedir, but close. It's oppressing. And a _thief. _It's latching on inside of him, tampering and messing with everything. His heart is growing heavy.

It's barely been a few seconds.

Loki finally manages to grab hold of himself and summons a dagger, shoving it up into Hela's stomach. Or tries to. It smashes, but grinds as if having struck dwarf metal. It's getting harder to breathe. People are shouting. Hela tilts her head just the slightest to swing a weapon in someone's direction—Heimdall, his frantic mind picks out—and Loki takes the moment of distraction. Shooting off a quick prayer of gratitude that he's always been more flexible than other Asgardians, Loki snaps his knee into her stomach as he smashes his fist into her neck.

Hela makes a wheezing noise, hand snatching up to grab at the area, but she shoves harder on him, breaking skin with her nails. Blood is beginning to leak down his throat.

He can't breathe. His vision is fuzzing. All that's coming is weird noises. Hela hums under her breath, leaning towards him. "It really is a shame, you know, between the two of you, I hated you less."

Wait!

It's—

_Someone help! Why is no one coming!?_

_(His sedir isn't working. Why isn't it working? He's lethargic. It should take her longer than this to kill him! He's been on the floor for what? Twenty seconds? Thirty? And he's—)_

As if summoned by his panicking thoughts, Thor grabs Hela by a fistful of her moppy hair and yanks her back. His fingers are buzzing with lightning and, using Hela as a current, it snaps between the two of them. Loki's limbs spasm, but it breathes life back into his body, if unintentionally. As Thor throws Hela back with a roar, Loki coughs and rolls onto his side, trying to breathe.

His heart is palpitating in his chest. His hands are trembling.

_Do you think your brother will kill me if I remove your head?_

Oh, Norns. She was trying to...so Thor would...and then—Loki vomits. The world is spinning. Having been nearly strangled to death more than once in his life before, Loki knows this isn't normal. What happens is a little gasping breaths, dizziness, perhaps a closing throat, _you don't throw up. _The vomit is black. It's blood. It's black and its blood, but it's wrong. Loki's blood is red. (Isn't it? Having spent so much time seeing it recently, he should know—)

"What did you do to him!?" Thor. "You demon! _What did you do to our brother!? ANSWER ME!"_

Loki dry heaves; a hand touches his back and he flinches, twisting his head around to see Brunnhilde standing there, Dragonfang drawn. She's clearly at a cross between assisting him or helping Thor decapitate their sister.

Hela.

Oh, Norns, she—_No, Loki—_this can't be _happening._

She didn't want to kill him. This was an act of desperation. _She doesn't want him dead. She said she was sorry. That's—_

Heaving in a weak gasp that barely passes for anything above a hiccup, he shoves up into a sitting position and immediately regrets it. The world spins and he nearly topples, would have, too, if not for Banner's sudden hand snatching at his shoulder. Loki coils beneath the Midgardian's touch, phantom pains of a large fist wrapped around his leg sparking through him.

_Stop jumping at ghosts!_

He opens his eyes—hadn't realized he'd closed them—and manages to get out, "Wait." It's not loud enough to grab anyone's attention and Loki forces his gaze to focus and assess what _happened. _The Asgardians are watching with wide eyes, open jaws in a few cases, and obvious terror. But there's a morbid curiosity there, too.

The curia regis is standing in a hastily made path between the crowd—likely Thor's doing—and Heimdall is hunched over, hand pressed against a grievous stab to the stomach. Eir is standing next to him, trying to coax him into letting her look at it.

And, a little past him, in the center of this whole mess is Thor and Hela. Thor has the latter pressed up against the _Statesmen's _wall by the throat, rage etched into every angle of his features. Hela is gripping at his forearm, but her eyes aren't wide with panic. Just grim satisfaction.

Something wet trickles down his neck and Loki flinches before remembering he's bleeding.

_Up._

_Get up before they kill each other._

"Thor," Loki croaks. His brother jerks, his head turning slightly to glance at him. Loki attempts to rise to his feet, but fails, only toppling to his hands and knees a moment later. _What is wrong with him? _Thor makes something close to a growl as Hela chortles softly.

Face heated, Loki's fully aware of all the eyes on him. Whether stubbornness or dumb luck, he manages to hobble upright, dragging himself to the two. His lungs are still tight and he wishes someone else would handle this. But no one will. Banner will continue to stare and gape, but Brunnhilde is only going to root this forward.

"Let her go." Loki squeezes out. His voice is raw. It hurts to speak, like he'd been screaming for a long time. He thinks he's going to topple over.

Thor's jaw tightens. "She tried to kill you."

"Not her first near-murder." Loki promises, reaching out a trembling hand to rest on his brother's shoulder. Thor's rage makes him seem so much _bigger. _Loki feels small and helpless. He hates it. "She's not hopeless." He whispers, "Please. _Let her go."_

"You're bleeding."

"And you're strangling our _sister."_

The term seems to make something register in Thor's mind. He releases her almost instantly and Hela topples to the ground, smashing into her left side. A pained noise escapes her when she tries to take the weight with her left arm and fails. With a soft noise, Hela starts to shove up, but Brunnhilde—when did she move?—shoves the tip of her sword against the woman's neck.

"Move." Brunnhilde challenges.

Hela's jaw sets and she remains still, shooting a scowl in the Valkyrie's direction.

Thor turns to him suddenly, expression earnest. "Are you alright?" His gaze lingers on Loki's neck and Loki has the strangest urge to cover it up like it's something shameful. The words gain meaning and Loki breathes, giving a slight shake of his head in quiet admittance.

He thinks he's going to throw up again.

What did Hela _do?_

Thor's expression grows tight, thins, and then he wiggles his way out of Loki's grip and turns back to their sister. When he speaks, his stance, voice, and expression are every inch the king he was raised to be. "You're under arrest."

Hela's lip quivers up just slightly, dark eyes briefly jumping over the blond before settling on him. Namely, his neck. Loki tries not be unsettled by the stare, but lifts a hand up to wipe the smeared blood away with the back of his palm. Hela pulls her gaze away first as if strangely ashamed.

Thor continues, but judging by how stiff he is, he didn't miss the exchange. "What did you do to my brother?"

Hela lifts a finger up to her lips as Brunnhilde and another man Loki doesn't know hauls her up to her feet. More Asgardians are hovering, apparently having gathered their courage. Korg and a few of the ex-slaves are among them. "My secret." Hela promises and rips her arm out of Brunnhilde's grip when the Valkyrie grabs at her forearm. _Say something, _Loki demands of himself. No words are coming out. _Say something._

Hela holds her head high as she's shoved through the crowd.

It still tastes of defeat.

000o000

Loki winces, slapping Thor's hand away. His brother makes a face and mutters an apology under his breath before swiping at the cuts with a damp rag again. Loki flinches at the sting and squeezes his eyes shut, folding his arms across his chest and stuffing his hands against his sides.

He has to swallow twice before he can get any words out. His voice is raspy, "It's a few scratches."

"It's not."

"I don't know why you're so insistent about this. It'll be gone…" his voice cracks, dies, and Loki has to raise it from the dead before he can finish his sentence, "in a few hours."

"It won't." Thor insists and Loki opens his eyes to send an annoyed look in the elder's direction. Stuffed into the small corner of the healing wing with its blaring lights and awful smells, it doesn't seem to be anything above a grimace.

The wet rag touches his neck again and Loki flinches before reaching a hand out and snatching Thor's wrist. "Stop." He demands. Thor's hands falter. Loki startles at it, and has to remind himself that this isn't the same Thor he grew up. The one who would have barreled through Loki's requests with the assurance that he knew better. This is the _Avenger._

Loki hardly recognizes him sometimes.

Thor sighs heavily and leans back, wriggling his wrist out of Loki's grip. "I'm sorry." Loki says nothing in response and they sit in silence for a long few moments before Thor halfheartedly mumbles, "I'm going to guess she didn't take the request all that well."

Loki huffs.

"Are you sure you feel alright?" Thor presses. "Even Eir didn't know what that was. You were vomiting black blood. How does—"

"I was there, Thor." Loki snaps and shoves up to his feet. He regrets it almost instantly when he sways, but grips the wall rather than his sibling when Thor makes a move to help him. This all feels so fake and pretend, like Thor is doing it because he _has _to. Like Loki is some sort of task he can check off and then move on with.

He's in the way of venturing out onto Fire Sweets, so it's not outside the realm of possibility. Teeth gritted, he takes a hobbling step forward. His limbs scream in their protest and Loki is suddenly acutely aware of the burns stretching his skin. The burn in his throat.

"Loki…" Thor murmurs in quiet protest. "Maybe you shouldn't…"

"I shouldn't what?" Loki bites out. "In case it slipped your notice, we have people to care for. Fire Sweets isn't going to wait."

Thor makes a face that suggests he is very unhappy at the reminder. "You can barely stand."

"I'm well enough off," Loki insists, though he feels every inch otherwise. "She didn't do anything permanent." That rush of energy wasn't exactly pleasant, regardless. He has no idea what it was. It felt like he was rotting from the inside out. The Kursed's blade was slick with poison that did produced the same effects, and it's the closest thing Loki can place to matching the burn.

Rotting.

Death.

Hela did that with her hands to him, _without _the aid of sedir. How powerful _is_ she? Odin mentioned needing to strap her down to Helheim, but beyond throwing a few swords around, stubbornness, and being relatively impervious to bodily harm, he hadn't seen anything to suggest Odin's _fear _of her.

Trading post.

Right. Focus.

Loki takes another hobbling step and draws himself together. He just has to make it through the trade. It's a handful of hours. Double, easily.

000o000

He can't do this.

Their footsteps seem to echo before they reach the first stretch of sunlight and Loki casts his eyes up towards it. It's harsh and blinding, but Loki finds himself drawn towards it all the same.

Three suns rest in the murky sky, slowly casting light and shadows across the trading post. Despite the size of the realm, it becomes clear, rather quickly, why this is only a trading post, and not a permanent settlement. The ground is dry, split and cracked to the core leaving edges of jagged rock that release heated steam. This planet hasn't seen rain in at least a century—perhaps longer. There aren't any plants, either, and Loki is oddly upset by this. The _Statesmen _doesn't have any verdure, and he is suddenly deeply attached to it. Norns, this is pathetic. Asgard wasn't the last place they'd ever see green life. Midgard has plenty. He can wait.

The air tastes strangely numbing, and breathing in deeply makes his head feel fuzzy. But it's not recycled, and Loki isn't going to complain.

Whoever landed the ship did so about a fourth of a mile away from the actual trading post, which was probably a good idea. Bandits and pirates are unfortunately all too common in such places; mostly because trading posts such as this one have little to no law enforcement and technology from before his father was born. Word is carried by mouth, and people usually spend as little time as they can selling their products so they can leave.

Loki can hear his people behind him, some giving loud exclamations at seeing the sun again and others beginning to openly weep as his fellow Aesir begin to slowly trickle out into the trading post, problems of the ship forgotten. Out here there is no slow starvation, constant thirst, and the near murder of a member of the royal family. There's just fresh air.

It's barely been a little under a week since Surtur destroyed Asgard, but anyone looking at his people would think it's been years. (His fault. The act of destruction was meaningless with Hela's survival. He blew up a _realm _and there wasn't a point.)

He steps up into pace with Thor, clawing at some of the reserves of his sedir to cast a loose glamour to hide how dead he looks. A walking corpse among the living. He feels like it.

They reach Fire Sweets trading posts a little under seven minutes later. A quick glance over the gathering gives him a basic layout. They're set up as tents with a few of the smaller sections spread in a way that reminds Loki of a mess, but is probably a careful, well-thought out arrangement. Behind the posts is a dry, desert city that was hard to make out from the _Statesmen. _That's probably the pirates.

There's a small gathering of rugged men and two women standing at the entrance; they shift to come closer as their party arrives.

"Ahe!" one of the men with a wicked scar across his face exclaims and thrusts out his hands, "You lookin' for refuge or something else?" His voice is bared with a thick accent that reminds Loki of Nornheim.

Thor clenches his fists, "We're seeking supplies."

"Ah," the scarred man says and smiles, revealing golden-flecked teeth. "Of course. My apologies, friends. You are welcome to our stores—with the agreement of pay."

The two go hand-in-hand, but Loki supposes that enough time dealing with pirates and thieves has made them wary. They have money. Whether or not the money will actually be _effective _is another thing entirely. Loki stole a large supply of the Grandmaster's slave profits in his mad scramble to gather everything together for the rescue party. It had been and afterthought, but he still _brought_ it.

"We'll pay you." Thor assures.

"Good." The man says, then his stance shifts to something a little more inviting, "I am K'har. I am chief here and you will answer to me. The city beyond is banned from your use, you have not need of it. We also ask that you leave before nightfall. Many nasty creatures you see—they like the taste of new blood." K'har gives a crooked grin, but his gaze makes Loki uncomfortable. "Who might we be providing for?"

"I am Pr—King Thor," Thor addresses, barely managing to smooth the slip up over, "This is my brother, Prince Loki and a few members of my council. We hail from Asgard."

K'har shares a look with one of the women in surprise. Both are wearing matching scarfs adored around their wrists, and Loki's assuming they're married. Loki has seen rings most often used to show such status, but it's different everywhere you go. On Asgard, they would cast ink into their skin looped in infinity with the adjoining crests inside the forearm.

"Asgard?" K'har repeats. "Truly? The glittering jewel of the Nine has come to us at last?"

Thor presses his lips together and nods, "Yes, we were hoping—" Thor comes to an abrupt halt as K'har's lips twitch before he lets out a barking laugh. Thor tenses, sharing a wary look with Loki then returning his gaze to the scarred man. He lets out a few more chuckles, then meets Thor's gaze steadily, lips twitching on a smirk.

"I am many things, Majesty, but a fool is not one of them. Everyone knows that King _Odin _rules Asgard, he won't be very happy to hear you impersonated him."

_Odin is dead._

Thor _can't_ be impersonating him.

Thor's mouth opens to retort, but Loki grasps hold of the rapidly deteriorating situation with nails and claws it back from the dead. He snaps a hand out against Thor's chest to stop him from doing anything. "Yes," Loki cuts in, "you have our greatest apologies, great K'har. Our people are starving and we were hoping that if we presented ourselves as grand and important, you would provide for us. Forgive us of our fraud." Loki dips his head in falsified respect.

K'har looks between them and Thor takes Loki's pointed glance, then also dips his head, "My humblest apologies, chief."

K'har sighs visibly and shakes his head, "Well, if you're so desperate as to offend King Odin's wrath, we won't push. C'mon, I'll show you where the supplies you'll need are. Everyone else," K'har turns to the rest of the gathered group, "keep an eye on the rest of these folks and help them where you can."

They nod, and then move towards the rest of the Asgardians. Loki watches them warily, but doesn't make a move to stop them. Heimdall is with the others, along with Korg and the rest of the freed slaves. They won't let anything happen should that need arrive—why is he so worried, this is _Asgard, _all of them can wage war single-handed. They don't _need _protecting.

"So, you'll be staying over the next few days, yes?" K'har questions.

Loki shares a look with his brother. "We're not sure." Thor admits after a moment, "We're hoping to leave as quickly as possible. We're...uh, traveling. To a place. Not here."

Loki barely represses the urge to smack his forehead. _Subtle._

"Mmm. You're going to be buying in bulk, then." K'har gestures out vaguely, "That's good for business."

The words seem to have a double meaning, but Loki has no idea what the secondary one is. Doesn't really want to contemplate. He wants to lay down, and that's about it. K'har says a few things that Thor fumbles through. He keeps looking at Loki for help, but Loki's attention is fixed firmly on a patch of the ugly sky and it isn't going anywhere else.

This was a terrible idea.

K'har guides them towards people standing beside large crates and swings his hand out in an arc, "They're providing water," he points towards a group beside these, "they have food. Word of advice, to actually _get _something that won't kill you, show them your money first."

Thor gives a slight nod.

Loki eyes the men warily. _Kill you? _What is _that _supposed to mean?

K'har gives another of his to-wide smiles and shoves them off towards the traders. Biting at his inner cheek, he and Thor share a look before shoving forward and beginning to brave the trade. Loki pulls a bag of golden coins from a magical cache then dumps it on their table and demands to know what it will get them. The three men stare at the bag with awe for a long moment, then hastily offer out a quantity. Loki stares them down until they higher it, buys it, then thanks them and they move on.

The rest of the day is spent largely like this. Loki will pull out the money and either he or Thor will bargain with the marketmen until they have something reasonably acceptable. The curia regis at some point in the day decide to go find a map of the cosmos and Valkyrie and Banner wander off with them.

K'har keeps watching them, as if expecting them to lash out, or he's contemplating whether or not to eat them. It's not exactly a warming feeling, and Loki keeps glancing over his shoulder to find the man in the crowd. Thor slams his elbow into his stomach at the umpteenth time and grumbles "_stop staring, it's rude" _under his breath.

Getting murdered or eaten is a little more pressing, but Loki stops being obvious about his shoulder glancing.

The further into the day they get, the more packed the market becomes until it's squished with people and hard to find an exit. They manage. Most of the vendors are setting up for the night when they leave and the remaining two suns are slowly beginning their way down the sky in a near perfect alignment.

When they arrive back at the _Statesmen, _a few Asgardian children are playing a game with their parents supervising from afar. Thor gives a fond smile in their direction before turning back to the ramp. Heimdall is walking down and gives a slight dip of his head in greeting.

"My king, my prince," he says.

Thor returns the gesture, "Gatekeeper."

Loki only gives a polite jerk of his head, because that's what is expected of him. (He wants to lay down.)

"King Thor!" Lady Pettidottir exclaims, almost materializing beside Heimdall. Her lips are thinned and Loki can see Lord Arkenson, Sir Borison and Vili behind her. Lady Pettidottir comes to a stop in front of him, casting a wary glance towards Loki. Her distrust is so obvious she might as well have handed him a note baring this, but Loki's used to it.

"Can I help you, my lady?" Thor questions.

Lady Pettidottir shakes her head slightly, "We _must _discuss the matter of your sister."

Loki bites back a groan. He knew it was coming, but that doesn't make him any more invigorated or excited about it. Thor's stance grows weary and he sighs. "What _about _her? She's under arrest, do you want something more?"

"She tried to kill a member of the royal family!" Lord Arkenson snaps. (Ha. _Now _he cares. Funny how people outright ignore things until it serves them.) "Of course we want more!"

"Your _sister _is a dangerous, unchained animal! She tried to slaughter the prince with a power over death no one has ever seen before! You _saw _that!" Lord Vili hisses. "She must be stopped. Permanently."

Here they go.

"I agree." Lord Arkenson inputs. "Your sister has done nothing to warrant our mercy or avoid justice."

"_And what do you want me to do about it!?" _Thor appears to try and keep his voice level, but he's nearly shouting by the last syllable.

"Execution!" Sir Borison suggests cheerfully.

Why is this their first instinct about _everything? _"No!" Thor retorts. Loki takes some relief in the fact that though heavy animosity may now exist between his siblings, at least Thor isn't angry enough to see her killed.

Loki takes a step forward when Lord Arkenson opens his mouth to protest further. "Stop. My brother, _your king, _has spoken. To argue further is to ignore his authority. How much would you like to join our sister in her cell?"

Lady Pettidottir gasps as if Loki's just struck her. "How _dare _you—!" she starts furiously.

Loki sighs in annoyance and grabs Thor's arm hauling him forward in between the gathered group. Heimdall is watching them with something Loki can't place. Annoyance? Amusement? Does it matter? (No. It doesn't. Loki doesn't care.) "My brother has already spoken his mind on the matter. If you wish to take it up with him, do so after you've calmed yourselves."

Once they're inside of the _Statesmen _a few paces, Thor rips his arm from Loki's grip and turns to him. "Loki." He hisses out, clearly frustrated. Loki braces himself, preparing for a reprimand. He tried to help, but it was not in a clean-cut, generally-nice like what Thor would have done. He knows that. It got the job done and that's all _he's _concerned about, but it's otherwise meaningless. "I had that perfectly under control," Thor continues in frustration, "I was—"

000o000

With Hela stuffed into the small room the council declared fit for a cell, the rations collected, and the _Statesmen _well on its way away from Fire Sweets, Loki squishes himself into a small corner of the now-empty bridge and _breathes. _Anxiety is building in his chest and grabbing at his shoulders making every part of his body ache with a slight dull fire.

He holds the bottle of water in one hand, running a finger over the rim in a rhythm. He hasn't eaten since Sakaar, but the thought of having anything settled in his stomach still makes him nauseous. (Is that ever going to stop?)

Loki looks out at the stars and pulls his gaze away just as quickly, memories of the Void tugging at the edges of his consciousness and demanding attention. The galaxy is beautiful until it tries to swallow you whole. Loki has never been able to gaze at its vastness without descending into open panic since he fell.

He breathes.

In, out.

He's capable of something this simple.

His sedir burns at the tip of his finger and Loki hisses, drawing his hand back from the water and realizes that he frosted the edges without meaning to. Great. Such _control. _Truly, his mother would weep tears of joy.

Loki sighs heavily and swipes hair out of his face lifts the water up to his lips. It tastes awful, like it's been sitting inside of rusted metal for far too long and Loki coughs, almost spitting it back up. He forces it down because he needs it and ignores when his stomach immediately clenches. Too long without substance, he thinks.

Loki keeps drinking.

It's the beginning of the end.

000o000

He keeps working with Eir, because he has nothing else to do. Thor vanishes for long hours and beyond stopping by once to check on Hela—who was sleeping—he spends a majority of the following two days stuffed inside the healing wing's small cramped space.

People keep coming in, complaining of stomach cramping and swelling in the back of their throat. Chalking it up to the lack of food and then the sudden supply of it, Eir waves offers them some pain medication and tells them to lay down for a few hours.

It doesn't help.

Leaving them alone only makes it worse and more and more Aesir keep coming down with this ghost sickness. There isn't a source, not one that they can find easily without a soul forge. Runny noses, infected lungs, headaches, vomiting, near-comas—the list of symptoms goes on and on.

"It's Hela," one of the aids murmurs after more than twelve hours of things getting worse.

Thor has joined him. They were supposed to be discussing what happened, but Loki's voice fell flat and Thor had kept staring out at all the ill. The most recent to join them is Heimdall, who's unconscious and unresponsive.

"_I don't know what it is." _Loki had told Thor. "_It's getting worse. Everyone seems infected."_

"_Virus?" _Thor suggested, but seemed skeptical. Illness isn't something that Asgardians face very often, and not something like _this. _Not like the Frozen Bite, one of Jotunheim's attempts to wipe out Asgard before Thor was born. That sickness nearly exterminated all of them, but this is different. There isn't a _source._

"She's cursed us," the aid continues in a hushed tone. "This is her wrath for stopping the murder of the prince."

"What are we to do?" another aid despairs.

Loki's eyebrows meet with confusion, but his stomach is coiling with a hollow sort of dread. That's...that can't be what this is. Hela wouldn't..._would she? _Can she? Neither he or Thor were on Asgard long enough to see the extent of her powers. Does she have the ability to do this? To start a _plague? (She nearly killed him with...with whatever that was.)_

(_Would she, even if she could?)_

Thor shares a look with him, arms crossed over his chest and mouth pressed into a thin line. "We need to talk to her." He says under his breath.

Loki inclines his head, sighing heavily with agreement.

000o000

"Oh, I'd love to take credit for this." Hela promises, looking between the two of them. It seems like an attempt at humor, because her voice falls a moment later. "Are you _serious? _You can't honestly believe that I could—I'm not a sedir wielder. I don't have a drop of it in my veins. Do you really believe that I could craft a _plague _from here?" She gestures vaguely around them and Loki clenches his teeth together.

Admittedly, no.

But if it's not _her _than where is the source?

Thor shifts, obviously uncomfortable. "No." He submits at last.

"See?" Hela's voice is almost praising. "You're seeing reason. If I wanted to kill you all, there are simpler ways to do it, anyway."

"You're not instilling me with confidence." Loki points out dryly. "But I think that was rather the point."

Hela smirks. Thor sighs and swings the bag he brought over his shoulder off. It's full of basic supplies, because both of them are fairly certain no one has brought Hela any since she was put in here. No one else has dared to chance it thus far, fearing the wrath of the enraged daughter of Odin, but Hela needs this to survive. Food. Water. (Someone to appease her inevitable wrath).

Hela looks up through a mop of messy black hair towards them and makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, sitting up properly. "_What?"_

_She tried to kill him and they're offering her kindness._

_She tried to kill him and they're standing here._

_She tried to kill him and he's—_

Loki hesitates, glancing towards the closed door mournfully. This would be so much easier if he'd just left her for dead. If he'd just walked away from Surtur with that stupid Tesseract and moved on. He hadn't. Because he couldn't. _He thought he was doing the right thing._

_(You thought that about Jotunheim too, and look where that got you.)_

Thor moves forward and tosses one of the canteens towards her. "You can't be immune to thirst." Thor says pointedly. "We're not just here to ask about the plague."

Hela shoots him a dirty look, but unscrews the top of the canteen and tips it back. It's no sooner touched her tongue before she's spitting it out into one of her hands and coughing several times. "Norns, what is _in _that?" she demands, looking down at her hand in disgust. The water almost seems murky in her palm and Loki feels a vague disgust squirm in his stomach.

Water should be clear.

That is not.

"It's just water." Thor's doubt is obvious. He and Loki share a look, but Loki keeps his lips pressed together. Fire Sweets may be a well known trading port, but that doesn't make the transactions they complete any more sincere than a well-kept black market.

K'har...kept staring. Like he knew he was going to harm them. _Norns, curse it, _they're so _stupid. _K'har is a pirate. He likely intends to wipe them out with...with whatever and then raid their ship after they're all dead.

Hela squints, tilting her head a little as she looks at her palm. "It's not." She decides, glancing towards the canteen. She lifts it to her lips again and spits it back out just as quickly. Her body wracks with full body coughs and she seems unable to catch her breath for several seconds. Loki's brow furrows with confusion.

"I know it's not a pleasant flavor, but that seems a little excessive." Loki says.

Hela barks out a laugh and looks up at him, wiping water away from her face and flicking it off her fingers. "Darling, it's not by choice."

"What—?" Thor starts.

"There's something in that water." Hela interrupts. "Poison...dangerous, I don't know. Something of the like. Have you all been _drinking _that?" Her tone is almost frantic, and something in Loki shifts at that. It's worry. She's _worried._

"Yes." Loki manages to grit out. "How do you _know _that?"

"Is anyone sick yet?" Hela counters. Loki swears under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Well, mystery sickness solved. They have a source—K'har—and the means. It's not some sort of plague from Hela's army. It's in the _water._

Thor swears, turning for the door as Loki does the same. Thor jams an elbow against the button, the familiar hiss of the automated doors rising. Anxiety thrums through his stomach and Loki almost misses Hela's quiet, "Loki."

They stop. Thor's body tenses and Loki looks back at her. Hela's expression is clouded, the edges of her lips turned down in a weighted frown. Her gaze lingers on his neck where, beneath glamour, the faint traces of her nails remain. "You're undamaged? From my—the attack?"

Loki's tongue remains still for a second, trying to process this. She's...she's...what? _Speak. Words. Have you gone mute? _"Yes. Disappointed?" Loki manages at last. He turns on his heel and storms from the room, if he wasn't listening for it, he would have missed Hela's almost imperceptible, "_no."_

000o000

Eir seems doubtful of their source, but nonetheless checks the water. Sure enough, there's little spools of bacteria floating through it. Bacteria that shouldn't be there, but one they'd missed because they hadn't thought to _look. _And they don't have the means to counter with their meager supplies. Not unless someone knows how to kill it all quickly and effectively.

They need an antidote, but they don't _have _it.

The Aesir keep getting worse.

And more keep _joining._

Loki spends endless hours helping Eir care for the sick, trying to keep himself calm. Heimdall said that the nearest hospital is still days away. Loki swallows his first instinct to shout _why is everything days!? _because space is _massive _and without the ability to use the jump points, they aren't going anywhere.

He's gone longer without water.

This is fine.

And then Thor joins the sick. Loki feels something inside of him scream, making a hollow snap and refuse to drag itself back up. Refuse to calm down. Thor. His brother. Family. _Thor is sick, and no one has gotten better from this._

Word of Thor's illness ripples among the Aesir with speed unprecedented and Asgard seems to communally despair. "_The king is dying. What hope is there for us?"_

Loki twists a cold rag and dumps it into his brother's forehead, "You idiot." He chides quietly. "You can't get sick right now." _Can't get sick ever. To get sick is a death sentence on the _Statesmen. "You've been so annoyed with yourself for being an ineffective king and here we are. You've made them all despair, how does that feel?"

Loki's hands tremble and he breathes out slowly, forcing the plethora of panicked thoughts to the side as best he can. Thor isn't going to die. He'll be fine. He's survived worse. (_This makes Loki acting regent again, doesn't it? And he did so well with that last time.)_

Thor is unconscious. He doesn't answer.

Loki keeps talking to him, even though he knows it's pointless. He's mad anyway, so it's not that he has further to _fall_. Yes. Asgard's royal family is nothing but a standing support to the citizens, their father would be so proud. (Disappointed. Enraged.) Thor is dying, Hela been charged with murder and Loki is stark raving mad.

Loki stares at Thor's pale, lax face and wishes he could clench his fist and murder the bacteria with a sweep of his fist. He can't. He might have been able to before he fell, but after...no. He's a mess. Refuses to acknowledge this, but deep down he's known it for years. Thor could be dying because he can't fix the mess.

(Has never known how to fix the mess.)

Banner joins him on Thor's other side after a few hours, face ragged and hair a contained explosion. Loki glances up at him, but says nothing. He hasn't been able to get himself to move since Thor was dragged into the healing wing. Brunnhilde found him passed out. Loki has half a mind to strangle Thor if he wakes up again. In order to reach the great build-up of losing consciousness, he would have _had _to know he wasn't well.

And he'd said nothing.

Banner runs a hand through his messy hair and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Any change?"

Loki gives a slight shake of his head, trying to focus. He feels scattered. It's hard to keep his attention pinned on one thing because there's so many dragging him to and fro. His entire body aches. He's put too much strain on it since he decided to help Eir. The infection of the burns is likely worse.

"He's dying." Loki says flatly. Has to get the words out, because if he doesn't do it now, it will be so much harder to swallow later. The Asgardians are frantically panicking about this and, despite the proof they have that it's a bacterial infection, the great theory of Hela's plague has gained root and doesn't go away.

Banner flinches.

Thor remains still, unaware of the drama he's creating.

For all the stupid quests Thor dragged him onto—for _everything _they've been through since childhood, and it isn't some great threat in the distance that kills them. It's mindless micro-organisms. Fate truly does have a sense of humor, doesn't it?

"He's not." Banner argues. He's hopeful. It's almost pathetic. A lifetime as _Loki_ has drowned him in an ever persistent pessimism he can't shake off. "He'll beat this. It's just an infection. He got crushed by a city and walked away pretty okay, I think he can handle this."

Loki shakes his head before tipping and leaning it against the wall. He breathes in slowly. Carefully. The sharp antiseptic smell strikes him, promptly followed by bodily fluids and the vague spicy scent of Eir's magical signature. "Not this time." Loki says softly.

The hours pass. (Days? Loki doesn't know. He stopped counting and no one's offered a timeline to him.) Thor keeps getting worse. His skin grows a vague gray color and his breathing starts to drag into a rasp.

He can't have more than a few sparse hours before the infection claims its first victim. And it will be his sibling. The son of Odin. If Odin's pure-blood child can't survive this, what hope is there for the others? But Thor was already injured. His body was weakened from the Bifrost battle and the six—seven?—stabs he'd been fighting against. He was easy prey for that crass water.

Loki swears under his breath and jerks up to his feet, refusing to just stand here. He doesn't know what his plan is, but he doesn't want to be here when Thor crosses over the threshold. Banner watches him with wary, but tired eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here." Loki answers shortly.

"Thor is—don't you…" Banner stumbles over himself and Loki looks back at him for a second, jaw set. _Don't you want to be here when Thor dies? _The question hangs unsaid in the air and Loki digs his nails into his hands. The pain is momentary distraction, but not _enough._

"No." Loki answers shortly. He crosses the distance between himself and the exit, ignoring Banner's disbelieving noise behind him. He wants _out. _He can't stand another minute in there without strangling something. Despair is thick enough to craft a weapon from.

Thor is dying.

And there's _nothing _he can do to stop it.

His feet move forward and Loki doesn't care where they go, trying to clear his head. He needs to think, without the persistent shadow of death and illness hanging over him. His back's burn pulses sharply and Loki digs his teeth into his tongue. It's itchy, and taking so long to heal. Everything is.

It's like being back—there. Loki digs his teeth into his tongue until it bleeds to ground himself.

Thor is dying.

The hall smells like metal work and leather. The lights are flickering like they're on their final few breaths and there's a faint creaking coming from somewhere. The small space seems haunted. _Good, _a rather sour part of him praises, _at least this way the ghosts of the Aesir won't be unwelcome._

Loki smashes a fist against the nearest wall and releases a loud noise of agitation. The noise vertebrates and his fingers spark with tingles of discomfort and pain. Loki draws the fist back to his chest and stares at it. It's shaking.

He breathes.

Remembers, suddenly, Eir explaining how she was dealing with the infection from Hela's soldiers and the burned, dead tissue. Thor's surplus of infected wounds, but his largely unharmed eye. Dead. Infection. _Dead._

_Your sister. The goddess of death._

Her hands around his neck and the digging pulse of whatever that was as it seared through him. Hela...was titled for death, wasn't she? Had it—was she...it—

She'd killed an entire fleet of the Einherjar and walked away largely unharmed. There is no way that she could have done that with just weapons. She's _one _person against more than a hundred and fifty. The Einherjar were weakened after Malekith, but Loki kept them as a functioning unit when he was king. They should have been able to overpower her _easily _unless she was controlling the factor of death against them.

With more than just weapons.

What if…

_What if…_

Loki looks up, flexing his hand out. What does he have to _lose? _Thor is going to die anyway if she fails, and Loki won't have to be there to see it if it does happen. (_Weak. Pathetic. Thor would remain by _your _side until you rolled over a corpse. _But Loki is, and has always been, a coward.)

Mind set, Loki move forward in barely under a sprint towards Hela's cell. He passes a member of the curia regis and another Asgardian, but pays them no mind, intent on reaching his destination.

The Tesseract whispers at the back of his mind, a promise of assistance, but Loki shoves it off. It's brought him nothing but pain and frustration. _But it could still—_

Loki shoves the door to the "cell" open and all but throws himself into the space. "I need your help." Loki says bluntly. Hela hums conversationally and doesn't move from her position on the floor. She's pulled her hair away from her face into some sort of loose braid, but it's falling apart from how straight her hair is. She looks better than he feels, though. More alive.

"Well, that's unfortunate." She concludes.

Loki's nails break skin and warm blood pools into his palms. "Sister, I'm serious. Asgard's people are dying—" he swallows, _get to the point, "_—our brother is dying. You've heard about the bacteria in the water by now, haven't you?"

Hela gives a slight nod and props herself up on one elbow. She's quiet, eyeing him. Waiting for him to speak. Loki gathers himself as much as he can, inhaling sharply. He swipes stray hair away from his face and has to push the words out of his throat. They won't come out any other way. "You didn't get your title just from being exemplary at killing things, did you?"

Hela's lip twitches. "No. I didn't. Why?"

Loki feels something in his chest release with relief. He was—maybe—right. Hela has a reign over death in a way that few will understand. She must be able to draw the life from anything, likely from afar if the Einherjar are any indication.

"Could you kill it? The bacteria? If I got you to the medical wing, could you stop the infection? Its alive, isn't it? If you killed it that would stop it. Please, Thor's time is limited." Loki pleads, digging his nails deeper. He's going to break through bone if he keeps applying pressure any further. "I...I don't know what to do."

"Sedir's done nothing?" Hela sits up fully, looking slightly confused. "Haven't you advanced your practice since I was—since I left?"

Loki shakes his head, clamping down on his patience. "We don't have the proper equipment for it. There's too many sick and not enough healers. The next realm is two days out. A third of the survivors will be dead before we get there if nothing can be done. Thor among them. _Please, _sister."

Hela closes her eyes and slowly exhales. She looks to be at a quiet war with herself before she gives a slight sake of her head. "I'll help you if you agree to my execution when it's over."

Something inside him snaps. It's thick and grinding, echoing around the space as if to mock him. He hates how familiar these words are. Hates how much of himself he sees in her. It's like looking into a reflection and realizing how hopeless he is. Beyond redemption. Beyond hope. Beyond anything but—

"_We're not signing your execution!_" Loki explodes. Norns know why, but maybe inane stubbornness at this point. (Because she's family, and she's tired and she's hurting. This is a woman who's screaming in pain quietly, and both he and Thor have come to realize that over the last few days. It's why, even after she tried to kill him that he didn't—) "Stop asking for it, you vapid—If you're so desperate, why don't you just do it yourself!?"

"I _CAN'T_!" Hela shouts, jerking into a seated position.

Loki's mouth snaps shut, startled.

"I am incapable of causing any harm to myself, you cretin! A parting gift from dear old Dad when he realized that banishing me until he died might not just conclude with my sitting in a dark corner of contemplation and revenge. Norns, you know he sent the Valkyries down there to—" her voice breaks off and she releases a heated breath before continuing lowly. "I never asked for this. I never wanted you to save me. I have spent my whole life incapable of making my own choices, stuffed into a role Odin _crafted _me for, and now I have _nothing. _My role died the day Surtur did. I'm not a queen. Not a goddess. I'm a monster and you all know it."

The words hang in the air.

_Thor. This is for Thor._

_Thor. Thor. Thor._

Loki draws in a deep breath, processing the words and then carefully pushing forward. "You don't want to die."

"No." Hela whispers, "But what else is there for me?"

_She's afraid. Afraid of what will happen if she keeps living. _This has nothing to do with death. Not the way Loki's was. Loki murmurs softly, "This is not the end of your story. It's a beginning. _You _decide what the ink writes from this point."

Hela looks up at him, eyes narrowed. "I'm…" her voice breaks.

Loki moves forward and grabs her shoulder. Its thin beneath his grip. The more time he spends with her the more he realizes how _small _Hela is. Has she eaten since she was banished? _Focus, you cretin. Thor._

"Please, I know you are angry. But Thor is dying. He needs you. I can't let him die." Loki whispers, squeezing his shut as the words are torn from him. "I have nothing else."

Her head jerks up and she looks at him. "Where is our brother?"

Relief threatens to tear his sternum in two. He draws back. "In the sick bay. You'll help us?"

Hela nods mutely. "I make no promises. Take me to him."

000o000

Loki works around the few Aesir walking around with Hela at his side and slips into the sick wing without much of a fuss. Thor is where he left him, the only change is that he's curled onto his side with the blanket tugged up to his sleeve. Banner eyes Hela warily, but beyond his lips parting and a slight noise escaping, he says nothing.

"Any change?" Loki questions landing on his knees beside his brother and resting a hand on his forehead to feel for a fever. Thor's skin is still burning to the touch and Loki's gut squirms with discomfort on this.

"No." Banner sighs solemnly. "His breathing is getting worse. Eir called a flatline on someone else. Loki, I don't know..."

"'Flatline'?" Loki repeats, confused.

"Oh. Um. Heart stopping." Bruce explains in a fumble, eyes still the older woman as she moves. "What is she doing here? Please tell me she's not a reincarnation of a Grim Reaper?"

Ha.

No.

That was the Valkyrie's in Midgard's mythology, wasn't it? (This doesn't _matter!)_

Hela kneels down next to him and squints at Thor's face for a second. Banner leans back slightly, clearly uncomfortable in being so close to their sister. Hela reaches forward and hesitantly takes Thor right hand with both of her own. Thor's skin, usually so golden like the sun, is pale and waxy. Gray. Hela looks more alive than he does and panic digs under his collar bones when Loki realizes this.

_Thor can't die._

"Mm, brother," Hela murmurs, looking down at Thor's hands with a furrowed expression, "you really didn't go halfway, did you?"

_What? _Loki feels his expression twist with confusion and Banner looks up. "What—wait. Can...can you _feel _the bacteria? You can _feel _life? That's—what?"

Loki's eyes widen. _Oh. _With enough training in sedir, someone can learn to sense the energy of others, but not to the extent that Banner is suggesting. Loki can't sense life like this. But if Hela couldn't...then how else could she take it?

"Shh." Hela instructs, closing her eyes and clamping her fingers more tightly around Thor's palm. She's still for several long seconds before a shudder washes through her and Thor's skin flares deep green. Loki's heart stutters a beat and dread sinks into his bones.

For a few long, painstaking seconds, nothing happens beyond Thor's breath stopping entirely and Loki feels his insides clench. Norns, he just got his brother killed and all he was trying to do was—

Thor jerks upright, heaving in a great breath and Hela pulls her hands away. The blond claws for air, flicking his gaze around himself several times before he makes a half noise and Hela lifts up a rubbish bin for him. Thor vomits something black and coughs several times, spitting out blood. Like Loki had after she—

"What…" he struggles to get out. "What was _that?"_

Relief crashes into him so suddenly Loki can't get his tongue to work. _Thor is alive. Thor is alive. Thor is—_He rests his forehead against Thor's upper arm in relief and a nearly deranged laugh bubbles out of him.

Thor stiffens beneath him, and though it dulls his relief somewhat—_look! See! He still doesn't trust you_—it's not enough to dampen completely. "Oh, thank God." Banner mutters in relief, lifting his hands up to help Thor sit upright.

"Loki? Bruce? Hela? What…" Thor looks between the three of them. Loki can't find it in himself to pull back. He's shaking too much. "Sister, why're…why are you here? What happened? I feel terrible. I was...Brunnhilde was there and then…?"

"You were sick." Bruce explains, "And you didn't say anything, you idiot."

"Oh."

That's it? That's all he can come up with? "_Oh"!?_

Loki breathes out slowly and lifts his heavy head towards their sibling. Hela's leaned back, sharp features protruding sharply in the awful lighting. "Thank you." He says as sincerely as he can muster. Hela gives a half nod, shifting slightly on her toes.

Thor looks between the two of them for a long second before recognition dawns in his eyes. "You—what did you do?" His question is meant for Hela, but Banner answers instead.

"She...touched you and all the infecting bacteria just...died. Wait—how did you know which one was the infecting one? Bacteria lives everywhere, most of it unharmful, but like, in the gut especially. How did you not—" Banners starts, fumbling over his words like he can't get them out fast enough to catch up with his mind.

Hela lifts up a finger to quiet him. "Death is my element, darling. Do you really think I'd made such a simple mistake? I can _feel _the life, remember?"

"But that—" Banner stops, breathes, and then, "That makes no sense. You can't _feel _life like that. Scientifically speaking, that's not...possible."

"Mm." Hela shifts her attention away from the Avenger, clearly not intent on continuing this line of conversation. She tilts her head and squints towards Thor's face. "Do you feel alright?"

Thor blinks at her. "I—um. Just nauseous. And a headache."

"Anything hurt here?" She gestures towards her stomach in relation to his, and Thor looks down at the area as if confused before giving a slight shake of his head. Hela's shoulders slump some. "Good. If it was then we'd have more problems than—"

A hand lands on her shoulder and Hela whirls, a thin dagger in hand suddenly and Loki lurches, grabbing her forearm before she can stuff the weapon into the throat of the older woman. The Aesir lifts up her hands in surrender eyes wide, body tense.

"Princess—Mistress Death," the woman stutters out.

"_Hela." _Hela corrects with teeth.

"Hela," the woman repeats frantically. "Please. Did you revive King Thor?"

Apparently deciding to save them a lengthy conversation, Hela simply answers, "Yes." Her arm slowly lowers and Loki releases it, watching with a sick sort of fascination as the weapon slinks back into Hela's wrist, _under _the skin. That's...that's not how sedir functions for weapon summoning. What on the Nine happened to her for _that?_

The woman's eyes pool with desperate tears. "Please—please, my husband and daughter are on Valhalla's doorsteps. Please, I know that you do not value mercy, but they're all I have. Do what you did to your brother to them. I'll—I'll pay you. _Please..._"

Loki feels his eyes go wide. For some bizarre reason, when this had played out in his head, Thor was healed and no one realized Hela had done it. Reality, as ever, doesn't agree with those terms.

"Money is pointless." Hela retorts sharply. The woman makes a stifled sobbing noise, and Hela's shoulders tighten. Loki feels his jaw set. His sister sighs heavily before, "I'll do this if you'll stop your incessant weeping, deal?"

"Yes." The woman bobs her head up and down several times. "Yes. Thank you, oh, Norns. Thank you, please, they're this way…"

Hela gets to her feet and makes a face in their direction before following after the Aesir woman. Some part in the back of his mind insists that they should probably watch her, but Loki shoos it off. She's done nothing. She saved Thor.

He can trust her with this.

(_Hopefully.)_

One citizen turns into twelve, and then sixty, eighty, a hundred. The healing wing stops drowning in despair and instead turns into an open space of gratitude and tears. Loki and Thor sit side-by-side watching the transactions from afar, silent.

"We still don't have any water." Loki murmurs, rubbing his nails across his forearm in a slow rhythm, digging his nails into the skin. The burn screams beneath the pressure and Loki quietly revels in it.

(He's going crazy. He needs to breathe, but everyone keeps compressing him.)

"I think given the circumstances that isn't going to be much of a problem." Thor answers in an equally soft tone. "She _saved _us."

_Why? _The question persists, refusing to go away despite how much Loki shoves at it. Hela had no reason to save any of them from the water. The water that she _knew _was infected because she wouldn't swallow it. _Why didn't she let them die?_

"I think—" Loki starts to say, but stops as the _Statesmen _makes a loud groaning noise. Heads snap up towards the ceiling and walls in confusion. Loki feels something in him give a shrill cry of warning before the lights flicker once, twice, and then cut out completely.

K'har, Loki remembers, he's here to collect from their "dead bodies" because he poisoned them. And they have almost no defense with everyone still half dead. Loki draws up to his feet and summons his daggers, releasing a swear under his breath; bracing himself for the worst.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I just split a chapter in half. A new update as of December 6th is in chapter 5. ;) 
> 
> Thanks for all the support! :) I've deeply appreciated it! I promise I've read every comment, so your support, enthusiasm, and corrections have not gone unnoticed. Thank you!
> 
> You know those times when you feel like you can write anything and you're a genius and stuff? Yeah, not having that right now. Hopefully this chapter isn't as terrible as my anxiety-ridden brain insists.
> 
> Warnings: BLOOD. (Not like, gore, but there is blood. Further explanation, this is my attempt at a sort-of Hallows Eve special, so think vampires.), some violence, panic attack.

* * *

"What is going on?" Thor questions, trying to shove himself up to his feet. He staggers slightly, barely managing to catch himself from stumbling face-first onto the floor, but he makes it. His skin feels strangely stretched and his insides are stinging slightly, but it's just distracting, not overwhelming.

The lights are dead, the ever-present hum of the ship dulled and silenced. It isn't pitch-black, though. Eir and her aids have witch lights spread across the room to help with the awful lighting that bulbs were providing. It wasn't nearly enough for the operations they'd been doing and they'd taken matters into their own hands. The light isn't nearly enough to cast away all the shadows, but it's something.

Loki doesn't look back at him, beginning to move towards the door. "You need to lay down." He says flatly.

Thor shakes his head, staggering after the younger. Bruce is making noises of protest, hobbling up to his feet and trying to convince Thor to sit back down, but he _can't. _Something is wrong and he's not going to sit around and wait for the problem to fix itself. _Never _been able to do that.

The Asgardians are beginning to murmur softly among themselves. They're frightened. Thor doesn't blame them, he has about as much of an idea of what's going on as any of them. He knows the water was poisoned—that K'har meant them harm, _perhaps he didn't know?—_and...that's about it. He wasn't awake to learn much more.

"Loki," Thor calls sharply and reaches out to grab his brother's shoulder. Loki flinches back, twisting to look back at him. He's gripping a dagger in either hand, and Thor's stomach drops as he recognizes what this is. Loki knows something more than he does and he's expecting a fight. "Loki, what is going on?"

Loki shakes his head. "I have a vague idea. Nothing you need to get involved in."

_Will he stop that? _Thor's not helpless. He's Asgard's king, Hela...cured...him, he can help. He won't be useless. They'll fix this, and then they can focus on the illness and getting...getting everything fixed. (They still don't have any water.) Thor sighs with annoyance. "Loki, I can help you. _Let _me help you."

Bruce makes a noise behind him, and Thor glances at his teammate as he finally reaches them and grabs for Thor's shoulder. "Thor, wait. Your brother has a point. We don't know what's going on and we don't know what happened to you. If it has side effects that we don't know about, it would be better if you were here, where we can handle it."

_What did happen? _A halfhearted explanation from his teammate and his sister is hardly enough evidence to build a case with. If anything, he feels more confused now than he did when he first woke up and vomited.

"I feel _fine." _Thor presses.

Loki opens his mouth to retort, wiggling out of Thor's grip with surprising ease, but the ship rocks suddenly as if something's struck the hull and all of them are thrown. Thor manages to keep his balance from years of hard landings with Mjolnir, but Bruce topples to the ground on his hands and knees and Loki has to grab for purchase on the nearest wall.

The _Statesmen _groans as if something is cutting into it and the creaking noise unsettles something in his gut. That's not normal. Or a good sign, he thinks. _What is going on?_

"Loki." Thor says crisply. "Answers. Now."

"Is it really that hard to put together?" Loki counters, but it's halfhearted and his gaze is focused towards their feet, where vibrations are beginning to ripple through the metal beams. Thor swears under his breath, adjusting his stance.

"Someone's cutting into the hull." He realizes.

"K'har." Loki inputs, and then tips his head, "At least, I'm fairly certain. He poisoned the water, so it's not too far of a stretch."

"He what?" Bruce fumbles, looking between the two of them as he hobbles up to his feet. His brown eyes are wide and flickering. Thor breathes out slowly, resigned. K'har. Here. The stupidly optimistic side of him insists that they don't _know _it's K'har and simply pinning the blame onto him because it's convenient won't do any good, but doesn't see who else it would be.

And K'har wouldn't stop _staring _when they were on Fire Sweets. He seemed almost hungry, and it made Thor drastically uncomfortable. Hungry for _what? _Their flesh? Blood? Other internal parts?

"Stopping them before they can reach the healing wing should be our first priority," Loki mumbles, adjusting his grip on his weapons, "I can slip to the lower levels and attempt to intercept them there if you—"

"Brother, wait," Thor commands, trying to grasp some control over this situation. "We don't know what's going on, or their intentions. How do we know that they're hostile?" The question sounds stupid as soon as it's left his lips. What proof do they have _otherwise? _Someone on Fire Sweets gave them contaminated water, and now they're being attacked? One can be chalked up to coincidence. Both cannot.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "You can't be serious. They're _cutting through the hull."_

Thor feels his face go hot. "What I'm _trying _to say is that we don't need to kill them. If they're here to steal from us, we can just frighten them off. They obviously expected us to be incapacitated. Or dead; but we're not."

"That doesn't mean anything if we can't keep them out of here." Loki argues. His expression is twisted with frustration and Thor has the briefest moment of ire when he realizes that Loki isn't getting his _point. _Thor doesn't want them dead; it's not that he wants them _here._

He glances back at his people. In the grand scope of things, Hela's...healing? (what is he supposed to call it if she's...doing whatever it is she's doing, but is most certainly _not _proper healing if she can't wield sedir?) has barely scratched the surface of the ill. There's enough to ward off a small skirmish if they stretch. That's about it. Thor doesn't want to engage in violence because casualties can arise on _their _side of the battlefield, too. Haven't they already lost enough of their friends and family?

Hela suddenly pops into his field of vision, a few feet from them. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun and it makes the stark contrast of the shadows around her eyes compared to her pale skin stark. She looks ill. Did she manage to drink some of the water? Thor doesn't think so, but he was already feeling sick by that point and it was hard to focus on much beyond how much he wanted to lay down.

No.

She didn't drink the water. She spat it back up and said something along the lines of her being physically incapable of swallowing it. Odd, and something he can further contemplate at a later date.

"What is going on?" Hela demands, looking between the two of them. "Is the vessel being boarded?"

No.

Yes?

(_Yes. Stop pretending.)_

Bruce blows out his cheeks and gives a nod before he or Loki can formulate a response. "The guys who poisoned the water," his teammate glances at his brother for the briefest second, "they're here to kill us."

"Oh." Hela's face is impassive. "Seems rather pointless. If they'd waited a few more days most of you'd be dead."

Thor chews on his inner lip, trying to bury guilt. Logically, he's aware that he's not responsible for this, but it _feels _like he should be. He bought the water. It was _his _suggestion that laid most of their people flat and everyone else well on their way there. Dehydration would have killed them all eventually. But still.

_He bought the water._

Some king he's turning out to be. (Will you _focus!?)_

The grinding noise picks up speed and Thor glances frantically at his brother. They're the only members of Asgard's leadership awake. (Alive?) There's no one else for him to turn to. Half of the curia regis isn't even in this _room, _and Heimdall is asleep. Decisions will be made by them, as unhappy as he is with this. He doesn't want to mess something else up, but given his track record of late, it feels kind of inevitable.

Brunnhilde steps up into pace beside his sister, and though she sends the other woman a look of obvious distaste, she says nothing. "We're being attacked?" she confirms, one hand on her sword.

Thor blows out a breath, nodding. Forcing himself into a well-worn battle mind, he says, "Our primary focus should be containment, not complete annihilation. The other Asgardians we need to gather to a single point. Probably here. Do we have a way to scan the ship and see what and how many were facing?"

Brunnhilde shrugs. "Yeah. Go downstairs and count."

"So no." Thor mumbles. "Alright. This is fine." It is not, but he's pretending it is. Stratagem wasn't something he usually engaged in...before. He was perfectly fine to follow other's orders, but alone he usually threw himself and his weapon into the middle of the battle and hoped everything would work out fine. It did until it didn't. "Bruce, Brunnhilde gather the Asgardians here. We don't know how many we're facing, but try to gather volunteers?"

Brunnhilde nods, making a slight face, but says nothing to indicate her thoughts. Eyeing her for a moment longer, he glances towards his teammate and hears Bruce give the briefest noise to affirm he's fine with this. Glancing towards his brother, he releases his lower lip. "We'll go greet them at the door they've so kindly provided us."

"I'm not staying here." Hela says flatly. Thor glances towards her, trying to bury frustration. Why does she have to make everything _harder?_

"You are." Thor disagrees, "You are the only person that can help the sick. We can handle a few enemies."

Hela gives a smile that doesn't meet her eyes. Does she even know _how?_ "I am a living weapon, brother. You'd be a fool to leave me behind." There's the barest edge of bitterness in her tone, but Thor doesn't dwell on it. Doesn't want to.

Thor holds her heavy stare for a moment longer before beginning to move towards the exit. "Well, no one's ever proclaimed me not so before." He mutters under his breath. He needs a weapon. He doesn't even know where to _get _one, there isn't an armory on the _Statesmen. _The weapons they boarded with are all they have.

Didn't he have a sword at some point?

A hand snatches at his shoulder and Thor tenses, gyrating and grabbing his sister's forearm. He remembers at the last second to keep the grip loose as to not aggravate the injuries she's nursing. "Don't touch me." He commands sharply.

Hela's chin lifts the slightest, her fist clenching inside his grip. How does she always seem to make herself _bigger _than him? She lacks a good few inches on his height, but he wants to cower in her presence. He hates it. It makes him feel young and helpless.

He's king, not a little boy.

"Listen, I'm not a healer." The words are spoken with teeth, "This is what I'm good at, if you've forgotten so quickly. I'm not staying stuck in this room until one of you declares my task finished."

Stuck? She's not—oh. She's under arrest. Right. (She tried to kill his sibling.) Who on earth decided to let her loose? That—was more than likely Loki. No one else would have dared to. How did Loki even know that going to Hela would help in the first place?

Thor inwardly wars with himself for a moment before shaking his head again. "The more people you can heal, the better. You need to stay here. We can handle this."

Hela's gaze closes off, anything remotely open in her stance slamming shut. Thor releases her forearm, admittedly unsettled, but she does nothing. Says nothing. Thor digs at his cheek until he tastes blood and glances back at his younger sibling. Giving the barest jerk of his head for Loki to follow, he exits the room. Hela's gaze follows him the whole way out.

000o000

Thor directs anyone they run across to the healing wing, trying to give as brief of an explanation as he can for why. The healing wing may be passable on the light department, but the halls are pitch black and refuse to shed light. Thor has rammed into far to many walls and doorways than he really cares to admit, but his sibling seem perfectly at ease.

He tries to assure himself that it's because he was dying not an hour past, but his mind assures him otherwise. Loki has always been able to see in the dark better than any of them anyway. Because he's a Jotun, but they hadn't known it at the time. Long_, long _ago when they were ignorant. He'd never realized what a gift that innocence was until it was torn from him.

Loki has taken point, daggers lifted and moving slowly towards the source of the noise. It stopped a few minutes ago, leaving only the sharp contrast of silence in its wake. Thor would be lying to admit that he isn't unsettled by how _quiet _everything is now. Shouldn't K'har's—_they don't know that it's him—_army be bursting through the halls and screaming for blood by now?

Why is there still _nothing?_

Thor blows out a puffed breath, knowing that it's making a little cloud, but incapable of seeing it in the poor lighting. The temperature dropped when the lights died, and now basic life support is beginning to fail. Thor just hopes that whatever K'har—_stop blaming him—_did to the _Statesmen _is repairable. They will be going nowhere in a hunk of useless metal. Actually, re-evaluate that, they will be frozen _long _before _going anywhere _will be of concern to them.

Loki stops suddenly and Thor has to rock on his heels to keep himself from smashing into his side. Thor's lips part with question, but Loki makes a soft shushing noise. "Do you hear that?" he questions softly.

No. He did not. He didn't hear anything.

Focusing, Thor tries to quiet the inner voices and _listens. _It takes him a second before he can make out what caused Loki to stop. There's a faint rustle in the vents. It's not the susurration of air (can't be, because the electronics aren't working), so it must be something else. The attacker? That would explain why they haven't ran into them yet.

The _vents? _His chest pinches uncomfortably as it reminds him abruptly of Clint, but he shakes it off. The Avengers are not his concern right now.

Loki makes a move, the _shing _of his weapons being drawn and his brother is still for another moment. Thor draws on the inner core of sedir, sparking lightning onto the tips of his fingers. He didn't find a sword, but he's not completely useless. A headache immediately begins to pound at the back of his skull, but he stuffs it to the side.

"What is that?" Thor whispers into the dark.

The lightning offers a flickering light to the otherwise dark space and Thor flicks his gaze up to the ceiling, trying to _see _evidence as to the creatures being inside the air ducts.

"Our uninvited guests, I imagine." Loki murmurs quietly, wordlessly stepping closer to him. It's hard to make out his expression in this inky blackness, but Thor thinks he's staring at the ceiling.

His brother stands still for a moment longer before his right hand jerks and he flings one of his daggers into the shaft. Something lets out a screech of pain and the movement stops abruptly, a soft moan sounding instead.

"Scouts?" Thor questions softly, hands gripping emptily for a weapon. There's nothing there, and to expect more is foolish. Mjolnir is gone, and all the various daggers he kept hidden on his person were stolen on Sakaar. Long before that, in a cage on Muspelheim.

"Scouts travel in pairs." Loki whispers, "That was only one. Why would—?"

The scuffling sounds again, this time faster and louder. Thor gyrates, trying to locate the noise in the room as his senses scream at him to _run. _There's nothing there; nothing but the dark thick enough it feels like a physical veil. Loki's dagger sings as it splits open air before metal groans and a creature lets out another shriek. This time it's louder.

Loki throws another weapon.

The creature screeches again, and then goes quiet. The silence seems so much heavier now. Weighted. Thor wants to back out of it, return to the safety of the healing wing and hide there, but he can't. He doesn't even know which way he needs to go anymore. Not without a source of light.

"That's two." Thor breathes, trying not to realize how useless he was. Loki knows daggers. He knows arrows and targets. If he's going to hit something, it doesn't matter the lighting. Thor has lightning and that's it. He can't do much unless this turns to hand-to-hand. "How many do you think there are?"

"Enough to fill a vessel." His brother answers sharply.

Thor bites on his lip and nods quietly, privately embarrassed. The answer is obvious. Two measly scouts couldn't have piloted a ship big enough to cause this much damage to the _Statesmen. _Their vessel may not be expansive, but it isn't small.

There must be at least a hundred of their enemies. Maybe more.

"Will you quiet?" Loki snaps suddenly, and Thor turns to the sound of his voice, squinting into the dark.

"_What?"_

"Your breathing. I can hear it from here and I must be halfway across the room from you." His brother says harshly. Thor's stomach churns, a deep dread settling into his bones. Thor's heart may be banging on his eardrums in a wild manner, but he has kept his breath steady and quiet.

_It's not his._

His mouth parts to say something of the like, to _warn _Loki in some way, but something scuffles behind them and Thor twists, letting out a shout of surprise when something leaps on his back. He's shoved face-first into the metal plating of the floor and his world rocks as his forehead is split open from the force of the blow.

Something screeches in his ear, grabbing for his hands and twisting them behind his back. Thor panics, trying to twist out of the grip, but finds himself incapable. The long bony fingers feel like iron cuffs around his wrists.

"Loki!" Thor shouts, trying to draw on the energy core, but finds his mind isn't clear enough to do anything than run around frantically screaming, _DANGER, DANGER, DANGER—_there's nothing remotely helpful about that. He didn't realize how much the sickness had weakened him, but now it's more than obvious.

On a normal day, this grip would have been nothing.

This is not a normal day.

"Loki, I can't—" Thor tries to explain, but stops when the creature lets out a scream of pain and tears itself away from him. Blood flicks into his hair and Thor rolls out from underneath the beast, trying to get up. He feels disoriented. He can't tell which way _is _up. Is he already standing, or is he on his side?

"Thor!" Loki's suddenly grabbing for his arm, and unless he is _also _sticking off the wall, Thor must be on the ground. "Are you hale? Answer me, you idiot." His brother rattles him and Thor coughs harshly, his lungs aching with the simple action.

"Yes. I'm fine." He bites out. "I promise. I'm not injured." The words feel strangely like a lie, even though they are the truth. Thor glances up towards where he knows his brother is, but still sees nothing in this darkness. He shoves up to his feet and feels Loki draw his hand away.

Something scrambles across the ground and Thor whips his head in the direction of the noise. Throwing a bolt of lightning, he smashes the energy into the thing's chest and it goes sailing back, smashing into several others revealed with the blast of light.

There's more than one.

Great.

"They're on our left." Thor notes, grabbing one by the throat as it attempts to come closer and throws it against the far wall. The sound vertebrates down the hall and he sees Loki visibly wince from the corner of his eye.

"Yes. You've made that abundantly clear."

Another dagger lands in the vents. Something else cries. Thor shakes his head, turning to the creatures and grabs the next one that shuffles forward by the forearm. "We don't want to hurt you." Thor says firmly, slowing his words, "Why are you here?"

The lightning he's providing is hardly enough to make out proper features on this beast, but what he _can _see isn't exactly warming. The pale skin and washed out complexion gives off the impression its just risen from the dead. Stringy hair is tied back into a ponytail, but Thor swears he recognizes the facial features to belong to one of the marketmen on Fire Sweets.

So it _was _K'har.

"Hungry." The man hisses, his voice barely above a rasp. "_Huuungry."_

"Fire Sweets wasn't devoid of—" Thor starts to reason, but the marketmen lurches forward, long claw-like fingers digging across his forearm and tearing at the leather for his braces. It digs into skin and Thor feels fresh pain spin up his limb. He bites on his tongue to withhold a cry.

"I don't suppose you're up for negotiations?" Thor questions the creature hopefully, only receiving a hand clawing for his face in response. "I'm going to assume that means no."

He jerks back, shoving the creature away from him. It scuffles off into the dark. He can hear them breathing now, the faint rasp of their lungs and something that sounds oddly like lips smacking together in anticipation of a meal.

Thor tries to gather his surroundings better, but the lightning stopped and he doesn't know if he can get it going again with how much his head aches.

His brother releases a loud, but sudden shout and something smashes against the ground. There's the distinct sound of something being dragged across the ground. "Thor—!" Loki cries. He sounds panicked.

"Loki!" Thor shouts and whirls, trying to find his sibling in the dark.

He can't.

He's still blind as a stupid bat in these caves.

The dragging noise continues, and something laughs in delight. _No, no, no! _Thor begins to move forward frantically, not caring what direction he's going in, but _needing _to do something. _Loki. Loki. Loki. _He can't let his brother die. He's not going to let these stupid—

Something leaps at him and shoves him towards the ground, but Thor twists and manage to take the brunt of his weight with his shoulder. It doesn't lessen the pain, but his forehead is spared the damage. The creature wrestles with him for a long moment as Loki makes a noise of panic in the background.

_Stop it!_

_He doesn't have time for this!_

He shoves against the creature's grip, but it's stronger than the bony limbs would first imply.

Sharp pain ripples through his wrist and Thor's wild vision flicks to the area, but sees nothing. It feels like fangs. What on the Nine is _happening? _Is it—is it _biting him? _His stomach rolls with nausea and for a second Thor's almost certain he's going to vomit. He shoves up against the creature and grabs for anything he can, managing to yank on a fistful of long hair.

He twists around some more, but the creature won't stop._ "_You know," Thor grits out, slamming his knee into its stomach. "This would be so much easier if one of us would let go."

Something claws at his forearm again and Thor grimaces. Hands clamp on his wrist and ankles, pinning him into place.

"Ooh, the blood has been split." A soft voice exclaims. It's female and carries and almost melodic, but strangely _giddy _edge. "We have so much to feast with tonight! It smells so _good._"

"This one tastes sweet," a voice calls from across the room. Thor's stomach twists. _Loki. It has to be. _No. What are they _doing!? _"Precious blood I have not tasted in an _age!"_

He thinks he hears his brother give a soft noise of pain, but he can't tell for certain over all the racket the creatures are making. For how silent they were before, Thor had almost thought them dumb.

"I am so hungry," someone next to him murmurs. A finger strokes over his jaw and he flinches, trying to draw away, but can't. Real, raw panic begins to settle in his bones and clouds his vision. He doesn't know how to wiggle his way out of this one. He can't see in the dark and he can't do anything about said Stygian.

He is blind.

"Mm." A female sighs happily. "I did not eat last time. The shipment was small. Let me take the first drops." There's a scuffle and someone's shoved hard to the ground.

"No! You know the rules. We do not feast until Master cometh! You are getting greedy with your age!"

"I am _hungry!" _the same woman wails. Something smashes on top of him and a woman screams close to his ear. He tries to squirm out of the grip to push, shove, _do something, _but teeth touch the edge of his neck and—

"_Enough, woman!" _a male voice shouts and the woman is yanked off of him. Thor stills. He recognizes the accented voice almost immediately despite how little they actually spoke to one another.

K'har.

So it was him.

"You fool. Do you not see what he _is!?" _K'har hisses. There's a murmured groan among the group and fingers wrap around his chin. Thor's tempted to bite them, but can't get an angle good enough. "_Living."_

"But living flesh sweetens the drink, Master." The woman complains. "We have not feasted for so long. I want it to be _good."_

"You could have been killed!" K'har snaps, ripping his hand away from Thor's face. "You know that untampered blood is dangerous, even if it _is _sweet. Tell me, is he dead?"

"No. I'm not." Thor cuts in, finding the briefest edge of wiggle room with his right foot. He holds his breath desperately, waiting for the right moment to utilize it.

_Loki is—_

"I'm sick. You wouldn't want to eat me. You'll get an infection." Thor insists. Half the words he's saying don't make sense, but they fall off his tongue anyway.

The group quiets. Awful dread creeps through his veins. It's laughing at him, insisting that making himself the center of attention was a _very _asinine thing to do. One of the creatures makes a delighted noise. "You see, Master! He has been cleansed. We may feast!"

Something digs at the edge of his wrist (more teeth), but it's yanked back just as quickly. "No, you idiot. We can drain him now and all of you will be hungry, or get what we came here for." K'har hisses. "You will feast _fine _later, my friend."

"Did I say sick?" Thor appends quickly, "I meant drunk. I get the two confused so often. So sorry for the misunderstanding."

_Where is Loki?_

"Oh." K'har sighs softly. "You poor, naive little king. You said you were _ill, _which means the others must be as well. The cleansing process has begun."

The claws dig deeper at his wrists. Thor's suddenly grateful for the oppressive darkness, without it, his pained expression wouldn't be hidden.

"You fret too much, then, Master." The same woman hisses. "We should feast! He's prepared!"

Another scuffle, and his muscles tense up in preparation for something to try and bite him, but it never comes. He doesn't unclench, though, panic swelling in his chest. He feels sick with it. _Do something, _he commands himself, _you are a warrior. Do. Something._

He only lays there.

Helpless.

_Pathetic._

"_No. _We need it alive to take us to the others! We know not what defenses they have. They should have been dead by now, but yet, here they are," K'har snaps. Thor gets the strangest impression that he's being used as an example. He doesn't like it much.

Glowing eyes slowly turn towards him. They're an off-yellow, something that reminds him strongly of Midgard's cats. Natasha sometimes volunteered at an animal shelter and she'd invite him to go with her every now and again. Sometimes it was painful, the cats were usually grumpy. _Focus. Do I need to spell it out for you, Odinson!?_

"King," K'har addresses, "there are hundreds of others on this ship. Where are they?"

"I'll die before I talk." Thor spits, jerking up against the creatures. He gets about half a foot before he's pinned back to the ground again, this time another set of hands joins the others. He hates how dark it is here. The shadows mean to kill him.

"Careful with your words." K'har sneers. "For it won't be you who suffers the death."

A body is dragged on top of the ground and something is thrown onto his chest. The weight isn't heavy, but the suddenness of it causes air to explode from his chest. A little noise escapes him, and the hands clenching at him release. Blood is leaking down his forearms, staining the metal plating of the ship. Breath is ice inside his lungs.

Loki groans quietly and Thor realizes with a jolt that his brother was just thrown on top of him. "Loki," Thor breathes and shoves up, relief threatening to weaken him. He grabs blindly in the dark for his sibling as Loki shoves up away from him, a noise Thor can't quite interpret slipping from his throat.

He manages to find Loki's arm and reaches around, patting at his sibling desperately trying to check for injury in the dark. Loki endures it for a moment before shoving his hands away. "Thor, enough. I'm fine." He promises, shoving harder when Thor doesn't comply at first. His voice holds the faintest edge of unease, though.

Thor's hands pull away wet.

With blood.

_Loki's blood._

_This one tastes sweet._

Metal is drawn (a weapon. Dagger? Perhaps a sword) and Loki breathlessly whispers, "Thor." Curse this darkness! Thor can't see a thing. _He. Hates. This._

"You will take me and my people to yours." K'har says firmly. "Or I will slit your brother's throat. You _do _know that they bleed out so much faster from the neck, don't you? My people are very hungry, king, and your brother will be a delicious appetizer."

Thor's muscles alight with rage and he shoves up to his feet. It doesn't do anything more than make him feel more disoriented. The chill is beginning to settle on the cuts against his forearms, it makes his blood feel odd. "You will not harm him!"

"Thor." Loki's voice is quieter.

K'har openly laughs, "One wrong move, child, and the blade goes in." _In!? _What are they—they're holding Loki captive with a weapon against his throat, aren't they? That must have been the metal being drawn. "You know how hungry my people are."

Yes. They tried to eat him. (_Eat him. What the—!?) _Thor's hands fist. He tries to reign in the sudden heat and anger that screams _this isn't right; vendetta! _And _think. _He can do that, can't he? No. He's always been impulsive. The brash one. The idiot. _Stop it. Not now._

Think.

He's not going to let any harm come to Loki. He refuses to. Loki has already taken enough scrapes and bruises in the last fortnight. There isn't any need to cause _more._

Additionally...it's the two of them against dozens. With the current circumstances, he doesn't know if it's a fight they can win. But taking them to the Asgardians would provide more hands. And there's the chance they'll run into Brunnhilde and Bruce along the way.

"Fine. On one condition," Thor says heatedly. He forces as much authority in his tone as he can so they'll take his word. His father had such a commanding tone. How did he _do _that? Anyone would have cowered beneath it. Thor can't create anything near that.

"Mm?" K'har questions.

"You'll release my brother when we get there. And me." Thor adds the last part as an afterthought.

"Done." K'har agrees too quickly for comfort. A hand shoves him forward and Thor staggers in the dark blindly for a moment. It _then _occurs to him that he has no idea what direction he's facing. Without a light source, all he's going to do is lead them in circles. Or into walls. Probably both.

He glances towards where he thinks K'har is. "I can't see in the dark."

"Oh." K'har sounds almost embarrassed. "That's right. Forgive me," something twists in the dark like glass has been scratched and Thor winces before a flame sparks and something cold is thrust into his hands. It feels like the rough soles of shoes. He almost drops it at the strange texture. It's a torch, not a bright torch, but it's _something._

His eyes burn at the sudden light, but he blinks rapidly to adjust and turns slowly, trying to assess his surroundings. There's at least three dozen of the creatures, all staring at him with hungry eyes. Long fangs are protruding from their mouths and Thor privately wonders how they missed this the first time.

Next to K'har a tall woman with the matching scarf—his wife?—is holding one of Loki's hands behind his back as she presses a dagger against his throat with her other hand. Loki's bleeding from his nose and it's dripping down his neck, but the worst of the damage, like him, seems to be at his wrists.

Where the creatures were biting.

_Eating._

Loki catches his gaze, but Thor can't determine what he's trying to say.

K'har's makes an impatient noise. "Well, get to it, little king!" he demands. Thor rights himself, turning to his left. He's pretty sure this is the direction they need to be heading. At least where Brunnhilde and Bruce should be. K'har grabs his shoulder. "One wrong turn, and your brother's blood gets broken first tonight."

_Wasn't it already?_

Thor grits his teeth and moves forward.

000o000

They don't run into Brunnhilde, Bruce, or—thankfully—any of the other Asgardians. Thor quickly comes to the conclusion that K'har didn't need him for directions. He needed him for _bait. _This is settled in his mind when he knocks on the healing wing's door—as demanded by the creature—and Heimdall has scarcely opened it before K'har has grabbed him and is stuffing a blade at his neck.

"This wasn't part of the deal." Thor hisses.

K'har laughs, "You thought I'd actually...oh, alright. You're a little hopeful there, little king." He shoves forward into the room, past Heimdall who watches them with a wary, but heated stare. The Asgardian's stop what they're doing to watch as they slowly pile into the room. First him and K'har, than a few of the creatures, Loki.

"Any of you make a move and I'll be feasting on your king first." K'har says and presses the dagger against Thor's neck further. He has to lean back into the man's thin chest in order to avoid the blade. Thor's teeth grit and he clenches his fists.

If he tries to _do _something, they'll kill Loki.

This was a mistake.

The Asgardian's share a frantic look, those capable of standing looking angry, but still so weak. The others lay on the ground, sick and ill in the mind with their fevers. Why did he think that the sheer amount of numbers would somehow _save_ them?

"Good," K'har praises, shoving them both forward a step. "Now. We're not barbarians. Feasting on the living is…" he hums under his breath, but it's fond, as if remembering a good memory, "so dangerous. Where is the water we gave you?"

A figure moves from the corner of Thor's vision and he tilts his head ever so slightly in that direction. He'd forgotten that Hela was in the room.

_Forbannelser._

His sister was crouching near the floor, but rises to her full height in a fluid movement. Her eyes are narrowed the slightest edge and Thor can see her sweeping her gaze across the scene. For the strangest moment, he feels embarrassed to have been caught like this.

Weak.

Captured.

_Helpless._

K'har catches the movement as well and digs the dagger against Thor's throat hard enough to break some skin. "Ah. Miss, I'd stay where you are unless you want to see him dead."

"Who are you supposed to be?" Hela's voice is flat. Her lip curls the slightest edge, head tipping.

"I am K'har, I am the leader of Fire Sweets," K'har says with conviction. He inhales loudly, "You are depleted of blood more than the others. Disappointing. You will not be a good feed."

Hela takes a step forward.

Thor chokes as blood trickles down his neck.

The Asgardians seem to hold their breath simultaneously, someone (he thinks Brunnhilde) hissing a sharp, "_stay where you are" _towards his sister. She doesn't. She takes another step. Thor's almost tipping his head back on K'har's shoulder to avoid the weapon.

"Sister." He grits out. She stops, glancing towards Loki's location for the briefest second before settling her heavy stare onto him.

K'har makes something close to delighted noise. "Oh. Family! Splendid. Yes. I can smell the resemblance between the two of you. Mmm. Delightful. Where is the water? We've done our research. You will all be drinking some more of that before we—"

"Feast?" Hela interrupts. "Sounds interesting to watch, given the fact I won't be joining them."

K'har stares at her. "I'm sorry. Who are you supposed to be?"

Hela hums a sigh, "I am no one. _You _are an unfortunate being about to be sent to their eternal paradise. Well," she looks him up and down, "I think you'd best prepare your soul for an existence of suffering and gnashing of teeth."

"How _dare—!"_

"No, how dare _you." _Hela snaps and Thor realizes with a jolt that she's been slowly inching her way across the room towards him the whole time. He didn't even notice, but suddenly she's less than two feet away. "I am the bringer of death on this vessel. You'll find I'm rather possessive of my job title."

_I'm not a queen, or a monster. I'm—_

"'_Bringer of death'?" _K'har mimics mockingly, "Oh, I'm certain. We had scouts. We _know _what is on the vessel, woman. An executioner wouldn't have_—_" he jolts suddenly, though, as if having come to the conclusion Thor did a few moment before of Hela's quiet journey across the floor. He makes a noise and the pressure against Thor's neck grows unbearable before it stops.

The dagger is pulled away completely and he hears metal groaning softly.

Hela has caught the blade between two fingers and has bent it up, forming an angle. Her eyes are heated. "You should have looked harder."

"I—"

Hela moves. She shoves him out of the way—towards the floor and he barely manages to catch himself on his hands—and shoves a shortsword into K'har's gut, shoving him back against the wall and pinning him there with the weapon. Whirling to throw a handful of smaller blades towards the gathered group in the doorway, she flings the angled blade towards Loki's captor's head. It smacks against the eye and it wails, shoving Loki away from him.

The other Asgardians need no further invitation. Letting out a collective war cry of "_for Asgard!"_ his people leap towards their enemies with their pathetic weapons. Most bare fists, but a few are wielding broken bits of bottles or metal. The few sedirmasters they have on board strike with vigor and Thor is suddenly aware that not once—_not once—_did he see Loki even _try _sedir during the whole attack.

Thor's lightning stopped, but Loki is powerful.

Why—?

Hela grabs his arm. He flinches away from her touch, but looks up at her. The grip isn't painful, just present. She's crouching in front of him, expression blank save the edges of her eyes which are creased. He can't tell with what. She tilts his head up with a stiff hand movement and looks towards the incision on his neck.

Thor stares at her, unable to wrap his head around this.

What is she…

She just saved him. Again. What is going on? Didn't she want him dead not two weeks past? This isn't how...it just seems _off. _Why does she keep doing this? Doesn't she keep _insisting _that she hates all of them?

So why does she keep saving them?

Hela sighs. "It's not terrible. Where else are you harmed?"

Thor stares at her. He can't seem to get himself to stop. He only wants to _stare and stare and stare _because this just doesn't seem right. His head is clogged. Oh, Allfathers, he feels terrible. Thor makes a noise he can't interpret before he lifts up his left arm for her to see. The gash that the creatures made have stopped bleeding, but it still hurts.

Hela releases his face to grab the limb with deft, but hesitant fingers. She makes a humming noise, flicking dried blood off of his skin. "You'll live. Let me grab some bandages and I'll do a field dressing after I look over Loki."

"But," Thor sputters, glancing towards the fighting going on in the hall. It's loud, and not exactly a clean. He can hear cries of pain and smell blood that isn't his. (Part of him is selfishly relieved that Hela stopped him from getting up. He would have tried to keep fighting, and he just wants to sleep.) "That—" he gestures vaguely with his uninjured arm.

Hela looks up once. "They seem to have everything under control."

It's a true assessment, if he's being honest. Asgard is a warrior people. They, once they're not dying, can handle themselves. Shouldn't he be leading them, since he's king? It won't due for Asgard to think he is a coward.

Hela releases his arm. "Stay here." She commands sharply. "Move and I'll take a finger."

She already took his eye, so it doesn't seem too far out of the range of possibilities. Thor sits up a little straighter and cradles his hand next to his chest, watching as she carefully makes her way over towards their brother. She only stops once to grab a stray creature by the throat and throw it against a far wall. It smashes with a loud _clunk _and crumples.

Thor sees her squat down in front of Loki, her back to him. With the same foreign carefulness—not gentle, not tender, just careful like one would be when handling a bomb—she inspects his injuries. They seem to trade a few words that Thor can't hear over the sound of the battle, and Loki glances at him a few times in the midst of their conversation.

Uncomfortable, Thor tries to focus on something else. The children and the ill are huddled in one corner of the room, Bruce standing guard over them. He's fidgeting, watching the fight with careful eyes, and Thor knows he's debating whether or not to release the Hulk.

He doesn't know if that would be a good idea.

Hulk would help, but getting him to _stop _would be the problem.

Hela drops into his line of sight and he jerks somewhat with surprise, but allows her to take his arm again. Unrolling gauze, she begins to methodically wrap the limb. He'll still need Eir to look it over later to prevent infection—the last thing he wants to do is be sick, _again—_but at least this way the bleeding can be belayed and it can stay clean.

Her fingers feel funny. Maybe it's because he thinks its the first time she's touched him without intending some sort of harm. "Why are you doing this?" Thor blurts. Hela stops. She looks up at him through shaded eyes. "Helping me? Us? Shouldn't you be reveling in the chance for battle?"

He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. That didn't come out right. Shouldn't have come out at all.

Hela's lips tighten into a thin line before looks back at his arm and continues to wrap it. She doesn't seem all too inclined to give him an answer, and given how un-tactfully he asked, he can't say he blames her.

_Brilliant. That was very cleverly put._

Hela finishes her work quickly, looks up at him again, and then points towards the sick. "Join them."

"I'm—"

"Did you think that was a question, darling?" Hela counters sharply. "I don't have the patience to deal with your attitude or your impudent need to self destruct." Thor snaps his teeth together, pulling his gaze away. His sister releases what appears to be a calming breath, visibly gathering herself together before, "You will do no one any good as a half dead man."

The words feel as though they've been echoed by everyone these last few weeks.

Thor doesn't know when (or if) he can believe them.

"I'm fine." Thor insists. Hela's already dragging him up to his feet by his upper arm, though, and waits a moment as if seeing whether or not he can stand. Thor amazingly keeps himself from swaying. Hela gives him a pointed push towards the ill and though Thor grits his teeth together with frustration, he follows the quiet order.

Bruce gently touches his upper arm when he comes close enough, as if quietly asking the state of his health. Thor shakes his head for _not now _and throws himself on the floor in an empty spot he can see the door from. Most of the Asgardian's have poured out into the halls and every now and again he can see bright flashes of sedir spilling across the inky darkness.

His gaze shifts to Loki again, the quiet question pulling at his thoughts again.

_Why didn't he use sedir?_

Hela finishes quickly with Loki and his brother sourly makes his way towards them as Hela rises up to her feet. She seems to take a moment to gather herself before she summons a sword with her right hand, takes it into both and charges into the fray. No helmet, no shield, no armor. Just a sword. He quickly loses sight of her in the darkness and straining doesn't help.

Loki sinks onto the floor beside him, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. He doesn't say anything, and Thor doesn't push.

Thor fidgets almost constantly for the following fifteen minutes, debating whether or not to get up and then staying where he is when Bruce looks back at them pointedly. Loki rests his head on his knees and remains absolutely still.

The sounds of battle have silenced, and Thor is about to get to his feet and figure out the reason when Brunnhilde, flocked by a few of their generals, enters the room with grim, but satisfied expressions. "The threat has been handled. You're welcome." Brunnhilde announces, "Rest easy."

The ill visibly release their tight postures.

Thor starts to get to his feet to inquire with the Valkyrie about the battle what they lost, how many of the creatures there were, the damage to the ship and so forth, but Bruce pins him in place with a look. It's not exactly murderous, or even _threatening, _but the doctor has this way of twisting his face that conveys disappointment to a high degree.

It reminds him of Father, and Thor hated that look.

Brunnhilde walks up to him, hand on her sword. There isn't a single drop of blood on it and it strikes Thor as odd. The other Asgardians are returning, laughing and looking far more energized than they have since entering the _Statesmen._

He doesn't see Hela.

"Majesty," Brunnhilde greets, dipping her head some.

Thor nods in return, watching as Loki pulls himself up with what looks like considerable effort. Thor forces his gaze to remain the Valkyrie, "Thank you," he says sincerely, resting a hand on her shoulder, "you have done your people great service."

Brunnhilde waves her hand, looking uncomfortable. "Don't make a big deal of this. I'm pretty sure given the circumstances this is something anyone would have done. Something everyone _did _do. So."

Thor nods, pressing his lips together and looks out towards the crowd trying to spot Hela again.

He still doesn't see her.

He tries to assure himself this is fine. Normal. He doesn't need to worry, but something tells him that if she was injured or dying, that his people would have just left her to succumb to nature's course.

000o000

Thor listens to the report Brunnhilde gives him as Eir tends to his wounds. They took no losses from the battle. _None. _After so long of bad news on bad news, Thor can barely wrap his mind around this. "_I think they're used to dealing with dead people," _Brunnhilde had said, "_they weren't very adept at fighting." _The creatures have all been gathered to their ship and their dead collected. Thor spotted a few men drag K'har and the few others Hela dealt with in here towards the exit.

They still have no power.

No water.

And, though the sickness has been mostly handled, there are those who still need medical attention. But their losses are far better than Thor could have imagined.

The temperature of the _Statesmen _is bordering on uncomfortable now, and Thor privately wishes for the blazing heat of Asgards twin suns again. (He's never going to bask in their light again. _Never.)_

Eir finishes her work and leaves them, moving to assist someone else. Thor is quietly grateful for her resilience. He knows she must be exhausted. These last few weeks have not been without their struggles.

Thor turns to Brunnhilde, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to create a little heat. "Do we have someone working on the power?"

He keeps glancing towards the door and waiting for Hela to appear, but she stubbornly stays away. It's concerning, loathe he is to admit this. She wouldn't...where would she _be?_

Brunnhilde shrugs, looking frustrated. "Don't think so."

Thor looks towards where Bruce is quietly watching them. Loki is beside the man, arms folded across his chest and expression blank. "Can you two look at it?" he questions. Loki is clever, and he's dealt with complex engineering like this before, and Bruce is...well, despite being from Earth, he's one of the smartest people Thor knows.

Loki gives a crypt nod, but Bruce's face blanches with discomfort. "Wait. I'm—I'm not from space," he explains quickly. "I don't know how much help I'll be. Or can be. I mean, you guys are like, advanced and complex and all that, but I'm just…"

Loki sighs and looks like he's repressing a roll of his eyes. He tilts his head towards the doctor. "Aren't you supposed to be one of Midgard's geniuses?"

"I'm a _chemist."_

Loki's eyebrow lifts as if to say, _and?_

"Look, I'm not Tony." Bruce argues, lifting his hands up defense. Pushing him from his comfort zone may not be the best idea right now, given everything else. Hulk isn't something they could utilize at the moment. "And my stints of genius don't exactly have the best track record of working. I can't do this. I'm sorry. I don't want to break your—the boat. Ship. Thing."

Thor bites on his inner lip and nods, repressing a disappointed shoulder slump. "Very well. Loki?"

His brother lifts his gaze from the doctor, "I'll look at it."

Thor tips his head, "Thank you."

Bruce does end up joining Loki before the hour's out, however, and Thor helps where he can, trying to offer reassurances and a small glimpse of humor to the discouraged. Asgard, for the most part, however, seems far overjoyed with the "great battle against the bloodthirsty beasts." Thor is suddenly reminded that despite how much his people have cowered these few weeks, they have not _changed._

Not really.

Not like him.

Not his family.

This is something that they would have told stories of for generations, thrown a mighty feast for and gotten drunk about. Without the means for any, they content themselves in re-telling the tale again to those unable to attend themselves.

Their happiness feels heavy, and Thor remembers his words to Heimdall so long ago. _Sometimes merriment can be a heavier burden than battle. _The words have never tasted so true, and he hates that he can't revel in this like the others.

There just doesn't seem to be a point.

Thor has finally managed to tuck himself into a small corner of the room to watch the people from when the lights flicker on. There a hesitant hum, as if uncertain whether or not glowing is something they need to do, but they're _on._

A blast of heat smashes into the room and Thor releases a groan of relief, lifting his head up to try and spot a vent visually. They likely need to do something flushing to make sure all the creatures are gone, and repair the holes that Loki made (probably others, too,) but that is a secondary concern. It's _on._

Dozens of the Asgardian's stop what they're doing to look towards the lights and exclaim excitedly about how the Norns have finally blessed them. They're all so happy. Content.

_This can't last. It's never allowed to last._

000o000

Hela finally returns to the room after several hours, looking none the worse for wear. Thor had tried to leave and find her on multiple occasions, but kept getting pulled back into the healing wing and planted there. Loki returned about half an hour ago with Bruce and a small handful of others. Although Asgard had tried to bathe them in praises, Loki had slunk off and Thor hasn't seen him for a while. Truly, a marvel, because this is _one _room, but what else could he have been expecting? This is Loki.

Thor excuses himself from the conversation that he was pulled into with the council members and squirms his way across the room until he pops up on the other end in front of her. She looks up at him as he approaches. "Where were you?" he tries to keep his tone even, but it comes out as a rigid demand.

Hela lifts a thin eyebrow. "Is this concern, brother?"

"Annoyance." Thor snaps. "I thought that something had happened. You could have been lying out dying somewhere." He gestures towards the all, "How was I supposed to know? What happened? What were you _doing? _It's been hours."

Hela shoves past him, moving into the crowded room. "Where is our brother?"

"I don't know." Thor admits, turning on his heal to stalk after her. "Why?"

"Eir hasn't found a cure for the bacteria yet, has she?" Hela counters and Thor makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, reaching out to grab for her wrist to stop her. His mouth opens to create syllables, but he feels the muscle coil before Hela snatches her wrist from his grip and whirls, grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him so they're eye level.

"Touch me again and you'll be missing the other eye." She hisses.

Thor lifts his hands in surrender, but his breath has collapsed in his lungs, trying to hide from the frantic thumping of his heart. She's already made good on her threats. He doesn't want to be blind. There's this quiet, but constant terror in the back of his mind that insists that it's just _one _mistake and then there's nothing but black. _He can't handle that._

"Alright." Thor agrees, trying to pacify her.

Hela releases him and continues to move towards the ill's corner. "Eir?" she presses. She seems so _calm—_as though nothing has happened. As if she didn't just threaten his _only eye. _Thor's not surprised. He's seen too much of her ugly to be now.

Thor grits his teeth together, drawing back on the conversation. She asked...what was it? The—oh. "No. She hasn't found a cure that I'm aware of. I told you earlier, the only combat we have against this is you."

And she was gone for hours.

He keeps this last part unsaid; it's probably nicer that way.

Hela says nothing. She keeps moving. The questions are burning and Thor bites on his tongue before he picks up the pace and jumps in front of her. It's not touching, not exactly, but it gets his point across. She comes to a halt, expression flickering with brief irritation.

"_What?"_

Thor sees a few stray eyes flick their way curiously, and he closes his eye for a moment in frustration. Why does _everything _he and his family do have to be a spectacle for the public? Even before Loki fell it was this way. He hates knowing that their eyes are pinned on his back constantly.

The thirst for gossip is sickening.

_Focus._

"What were you doing?" Thor presses, "At least tell me that much."

Hela flicks her gaze up for a moment, obviously losing any reigns on her patience, and then rubs at her arm absently. "Your people are arrogant; you know that, don't you? When the creatures surrendered, they considered all good and done. I was sweeping the ship for stragglers. Caught a few dozen in the ventilation. It took a while. You're welcome."

She shoves past him and Thor lets her go, squinting at her back, baffled.

_What?_

Thor manages to pull his tongue down and blinks. "Our people." He mutters in correction under his breath, turning and slipping back into the crowd. He mingles until they're all exhausted and preparing for rest, and tries to locate Loki, but finds little success.

At least, until Lord Arkenson, dragging Loki by his arm, all but throws his brother at him. Thor reaches his hands out to steady his sibling by habit, but Loki has already straightened and is shooting a scowl in the man's direction.

Thor bites back a groan and feels terrible for how much he's privately disappointed Lord Arkenson, Vili, and Sir Borison are no longer ill. They'd spent a good amount of time among the dying, and Thor had been privately relieved to be without their scrutiny. (How terrible this is. He's supposed to be the hero. He's the good person. He doesn't get to think thoughts like this.)

"We need to discuss the matter of your sister." Lord Arkenson says flatly. "_Again. _Does that not raise some alarm bells, Your Highness, that I must use that word? What on the Nine is she doing out of the cell? She attempted to _kill _the Prince—and, to the best of my sources, _he's _the one who released her."

Thor glances towards Loki. He doesn't have an explanation for this. He wasn't aware enough to have gathered data on Loki's motives.

"She saved our lives. And Thor's." Loki's voice is almost toneless. "She was the only thing I could think of that might work. Would you rather that you were dead and your corpse being drunk from?"

"Of course not!" Lord Vili snaps, "But she's _dangerous. _We mustn't let her wander. She'll—"

"What?" Thor interrupts, turning his gaze to the old Aesir. "She'll what? I _know _that she's not exactly safe. I know that she killed on the Bifrost bridge, and I know she tried to kill my brother." _And him, but the only people who need to be aware of that is him and her. _"Nothing you list as a crime is going to be a surprise. Locking her up didn't do anything."

Lord Vili coils up like a spring ready to bounce. "I'll not have a villain usurping you!"

_What? _Now they're concerned about her taking her _birthright? _Will these men never cease to find circumstantial reasons to be upset with everyone? _Their home was just destroyed,_ a quiet part of his mind tries to placate, _everything they know is ashes. The only sense of control they're gaining is by trying to tell Thor how to be king._

Thor shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's late. Get some rest."

"I—" Sir Borison starts to sputter.

"My brother is right." Hela says to the side of them. Thor releases a swear, barely containing an open jump. The curia regis members all stagger a few steps with surprise. Loki, unsurprisingly, either saw their sister coming or sensed it, and does nothing but flick his gaze up to her. "You best be off to sleep-ville." Hela waves her hands towards them in a shooing motion.

Bristling and obviously annoyed, but complacent, the three men scatter like leaves in the wind at her gesture. Thor sighs in relief and lifts up his head, murmuring a quiet, "thank you" under his breath. His sister's eyes soften with mirth, but she doesn't laugh. Or smile.

She sweeps her gaze up and down both of them before tilting her head in a "follow" gesture. "When was the last time either of you slept? Passing out doesn't count." Thor wracks his brain for a moment, coming to the conclusion it was probably the time after the discovery of his siblings. He shares a look with Loki, quietly embarrassed. She makes a face. "I see. I'd be impressed, but there isn't a point to encourage you."

"And you're so concerned because…?" Loki pushes.

"I'm not." Hela states flatly, stopping to look back at them. Her brow furrows. "Wait. Don't tell me you think this is out of _concern._" She laughs quietly. "Trust me, the first person who'd see you dead on this ship is me. I'm the demon in case you've forgotten."

"No. You keep making it explicitly clear." Loki promises. Thor resists the urge to whack him on the arm for the comment. It was rude. Watching Hela's face as carefully as he was, he can see the way it falls somewhat. Not enough to be obvious or relay and emotion, but it's _there._

Her expression snaps closed. "I hate you." Hela promises.

Loki offers a weary smile. "Most people do."

Thor looks between the two and tries to remember a time he wasn't concerned about the two assassinating each other. He has hundreds of years to draw upon, but these last few weeks feel as though they've drawn on for years. Decades. A lifetime. Everytime they have a small victory, things work backwards until they lose all their progress.

000o000

Thor sets up a guard to watch the gathered creatures and takes a few shifts himself over the following few days. He's avoiding the Aesir, but it seems rude and un-kingly to admit that. Beyond a brief scuffle where a few people were scratched or bit (not drained, just bit), everything passes dully.

Using what resources they can, Bruce and a handful of others finally manage to create a synthesis, draw something together with sedir and use it to fight the bacteria after releasing it into the stored water they have. Thor is the first to try it and when he doesn't keel over dead in the following few hours, Eir tentatively distributes their resources to combat growing dehydration.

Thor watches from afar as Eir hands Hela a canteen and the two trade a few words. Eir is a brash woman, but Thor can see her unease even from a distance. No one seems to actively try to engage his sister except for him and his brother, so it's a strange sight.

Hela drinks this water without spitting it back up.

The return journey to Fire Sweets takes longer than they'd been anticipating. Although they'd managed to get the systems up and running on the _Statesmen, _the device the creatures from Fire Sweets used to disable the power wreaked havoc on the engine.

They are going no where fast.

It's the night before they're to arrive on the planet (three days after the attack), that Hela finally joins him and Loki in the room. The L-shaped couch has served as something close to a bed, even if it's lumpy in some places and the springs are clearly as old as the Grandmaster himself.

He and Loki share an apprehensive look from across the space, but Hela doesn't dither. She moves from the doorway and collapses against the un-occupied area and curls up into something smaller than he thought her capable of. He wordlessly scoots down a bit to give her more space and sees Loki adjust his own position.

None of them say a word.

Thor hasn't spoken with Hela since their argument that night, so it seems only fitting.

000o000

He jerks awake to the sound of a keening noise. It's the sort of sound someone makes when they're trying to scream, but don't want to draw attention to themselves. Like their lungs were being torn out through their back and are currently being stuffed back in.

His eye snaps open with confusion as his heart rate picks up the pace.

What on the _Nine—?_

He shoves into a sitting position, hands tight by his sides and rapidly scans his gaze across the space trying to identify the source. It almost sounds like a wounded animal. Where—? He lifts his head and identifies it a moment later. He feels color drain from his face as his jaw goes slightly slack.

Hela. She's rigid in sleep, but he knows the gasping mewls are from _her._

Loki is sitting up a moment later, eyes wide. He shakes hair from his face and wordlessly meets his eyes. Thor sees the same confused solicitude in him reflected there. Uncertain what to do, but unwilling to just leave her there, Thor hesitantly gets to his feet and crosses the small distance between them.

Loki gets up, standing behind him.

Thor reaches a hand out and gently rests it on their sister's shoulder. "...Hela?" he murmurs. The older Aesir doesn't wake. She twitches, a sharper noise seeping between her teeth. Thor gathers himself and asks a little louder, "Hela?"

Still nothing. He tries again, and shakes her gruffly, but she only makes the same noise again, eyes snapped closed and arms tucked close to her chest. Thor bites at his inner cheek in silent debate before deciding that the pros outweigh the cons in this case. He allows the smallest fizzle of electricity to build on his fingers, nothing more harmful than a slight jolt, and rests his hand on her shoulder.

Hela comes to with a ragged gasp. She snaps upright, eyes wide and slightly hazy. "_No!" _she screeches, attempting to scramble up the back of the couch in her need to get away from them. "I'm—I'm—" her limbs won't hold and she collapses against the couch.

"Sister!" Thor says in alarm, trying to ground her. "Sister, stop! It's just us."

_That's supposed to be reassuring?_

_You really are adorable, you know that?_

Hela makes a noise that takes Thor longer than he cares to admit that he identifies as a hopeless sob. "Please," she whispers, clutching her left hand against her stomach, "_please._ I can't...Papa, my arm hurts. It hurts and you keep making it worse. Please, _please,"_

Thor stands there, gaping. His mind seems to have decided this is a fine time to reboot, and he can't get it _going. _He's just standing here, holding one of Midgard's blasted electronics as it spins those stupid circles around and has the text of _please wait _resting beneath the logo. Of all the things he'd been _expecting, _this was far from the list.

Loki slides past him and sits on the couch beneath Hela's hopelessly sobbing form. She's still wrapped around herself tightly, knees tucked up close as she hides her arms behind them. Black hair is sticking to the sides of her face.

Loki reaches out with a careful hand and rests it on one bony knee. Hela jerks at the touch, but does little else. "Hela," Loki's voice is even, calm and soft, "this is the _Statesmen. _It's three twenty-two in the night. There's no one in this room except for you, me, and our brother. The room is cold, but not excessively so, it smells faintly of dank paper."

Loki keeps on with this mindless nonsense, listing out facts about the room or the ship. He doesn't remove his hand from her knee, as if trying to ground her to reality with the feather touch. He keeps his tone at the same level, and Thor watches uselessly as Hela slowly comes back to herself. The shaking stops first, but the sobs still wrack her frame.

Thor swallows, but his throat feels weirdly sticky. Loki falls silent, murmuring something only occasionally. Thor glances toward his younger sibling and privately wonders how he knew what to _do. _Thor would have just sat there and made a mess of it all—as he's prone to—but Loki seemed to recognize the panic attack—_Hela, his murderous psychopathic sister, having a panic attack—_for what it was after a few seconds.

Thor shifts from foot to foot for a second before taking half a step forward. "Hela," he says softly. She doesn't do anything to acknowledge that she heard him. "I'm…" he cuts himself off, deciding it's probably better not to say anything. He takes a seat on the couch on her other side, his muscles stiff and not moving nearly as fluidly as he's used to.

Loki watches him carefully.

Thor reaches out a hand, sends up a quick prayer that he won't lose his other eye tonight, and begins to slowly run it through her hair. Hela twitches somewhat, but again does nothing, laying there as if defeated. Her hair is far coarser than he thought it would be. From a distance, it looked soft and well-kept, but Thor can tell almost immediately that the years she was banished did not do things for her health.

The action is something that used to calm Loki when he was younger and upset. Thor can't remember the last time he did this for his younger sibling. Loki used to be such a clingy child, always wanting to the reassurance of physical touch much to his younger self's annoyance. Looking back Thor can't remember a time it just stopped, but Loki refuses physical affection if he can avoid it now.

Hela's hair is long, but there's few tangles or knots. She must have brushed it recently.

_These are definitely things to be concerned over, Odinson._

Hela allows him to continue the rhythm for a while, until the sobs have ceased and she lays on the couch completely still and silent.

This, Thor privately concludes, is far worse than the tears. Now she seems utterly devoid of life. He doesn't know how long he keeps this up, watching for slight body movements lest she grow incensed, draw a dagger, and carve out another body part.

That doesn't happen. Instead, she breathes out a little heavier and then in a thick voice says, "What are you doing?"

Thor's hand stills. He feels suddenly embarrassed, but swallows it. "Trying to help." He admits.

Hela's quiet. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not—" Thor stops, breathes out, _reigns in his temper, _"this isn't pity. I'm just trying to help with...whatever that was. A dream? What on Yggdrasil made you—"

Hela shoves up into a seated position. Her lips are pinched together and her hands clenched by her side. Without another word, she rises to her feet and begins to stalk towards the door. Thor leaps to his own, making a noise of protest. "Sister, wait—!"

"Brother." Loki says quietly. He hasn't shifted. Thor moves, starting to go after the older Aesir, but Loki grabs his wrist before he can make it very far. His skin is so cold it causes Thor's to ripple. "Thor," his voice is barely a whisper, "Thor, let her go."

Thor doesn't _want _to. He keeps his teeth set together and digs his boots into the metal floor of the _Statesmen _watching as Hela exits. She doesn't look back at them. Thor wiggles his way from Loki's grip and turns to face him. Waits for answers as to Loki's _why. _Doesn't expect them, because Loki so rarely explains his thought process as of late.

Loki sighs, rubbing at his temple. "Let her process. I don't imagine getting caught after something like that would be without humiliation."

He sounds as though he's speaking from personal experience. Thor can't recall a time Loki ever did something so _strange _before. Loki's had his moments of panic, but nothing like _that _since they were adolescents.

Thor bites at his lip, but sees his brother's logic grudgingly. He sits on the couch again and tries to pretend he's sleeping instead of waiting for the door to open again. They don't attempt conversation. Loki tips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, obviously thinking over something.

Hela doesn't come back.

000o000

When Thor and his people turn the creatures over to the others on Fire Sweets (a relief, to realize, that there are others in charge beyond K'har, because he was only the chief of that villa, not the whole planet) they only seem to be a little disappointed, sigh, and then guide the humiliated creatures back into their ranks. "We'll compensate for your losses," one of the men promised, "I'm certain that they didn't leave without damage."

"No." Thor had assured.

"I'm impressed," the same man had admitted, "most the people K'har goes after don't, well," he cleared his throat, "live. Give us a few days to repair and then you can be on your way."

Thor stared at him. "And do you swear on your honor that my people will not be nearly eaten by something else from this blasted world?"

A crooked grin and then, "Well, I make no guarantees, but we'll try."

That was sort of that. Wary and well aware that they could be putting themselves into another trap, Thor tasks Brunnhilde and Heimdall with overseeing the repairs. Grumbling and groaning about how much she hates him, Brunnhilde had agreed and been dragged off by a silent Heimdall.

Thor had been standing guard over his people, trying to stifle the protective ache inside of him, but finding no success. Some of the council members had wisely suggested buying weapons, and Thor had agreed, letting them take some funds to do it. Now, at least, he can pretend he's not as useless with a sword strapped at his side.

It's not Mjolnir, will never be his hammer, but it's something.

It's late in day two of their stay here when Loki approaches him, something frantic and urgent on his face. A knot of apprehension ties his organs together, refusing to let them go. "Loki," Thor calls when his brother was close enough. "What is it?"

Loki glanced around them as if searching for prying ears before saying, lowly, "I can't find our sister anywhere. She's not on the ship."

Thor's stomach drops. The only thing that forms properly in his head is an expletive. Loki was, if unsaid, in charge of keeping a weathered eye on her. The fact that _Loki _lost her is an impressive feat, but nonetheless concerning. "_What? _Have you inquired of Heimdall?"

"The same gatekeeper who is watching these barbarians? He's busy," Loki says flatly.

Thor runs a hand through his spiky hair, releasing a soft groan. "You're a sorcerer, don't you have tracking spells? Dr. Strange managed. He found our father and you know how Earth magic is."

Loki visibly bristles. "I am perfectly capable of doing something as simple as a _tracking spell."_

But he doesn't.

Hasn't.

(Can't?)

As they've gotten older, Loki has been less careless with his sedir. He doesn't wave it around for flashy drama like he used to when they were mere children. Loki matured and with it so did his use of his powers. Part of Thor has always wondered if Loki was afraid of showing his skill in front of the court. It was always discouraged, and to admit how much he'd grown—something Thor still doesn't honestly know—would have been shamed.

But Loki has used almost _no _sedir since he repaired the damage done to Thor's chest from Hela's blades. Since he fell. Thor grits his teeth together and forces the question out before he loses the opportunity to again. "Then why aren't you using sedir?"

Loki stills. His expression blanks for the briefest moment as if he can't comprehend the question. "I'm _sorry?_ What does this have to do with _anything?_"

"Sedir." Thor repeats, waving his hands. "I should hope that you know what it is now, brother. If you really could create a tracking spell, you wouldn't be talking to me. I'm not stupid. What is wrong with it? Did something happen while—after...when you fell?"

Loki's entire body has frozen. There's something hunted in his gaze. He looks to be between bolting or grabbing the sword at Thor's belt and chopping of his head. His words are careful, "_Nothing _happened. You're thinking wistfully."

"'_Wistful—'?"_

"Never mind." Loki says quickly. He still looks panicked, as if caught doing something terrible. "I can handle it."

"Loki, wait—" Thor tries, but Loki is already moving away from him. He's gone before Thor can reach him. Thor swears under his breath and slams his fist into the side of the _Statesmen. _He catches himself before he can inflict more damage, but it doesn't ease the ache in his stomach.

He's pushing them all away with his stupid words.

He doesn't mean to be.

But he is.

000o000

Thor finds Hela on the outskirts of the city, sitting on the ground beside an old, withered building. It seems to have seen more years than his father and Thor momentarily wonders if it is going to topple and what he'll do if it does. Shaking his head to rid his mind of these useless thoughts, he stands still for another moment, fidgeting.

Hela's gaze has a far-off look, resting somewhere in front of her. Thor can see nothing of note when he glances in that direction, but says nothing and instead asks, "May I join you?"

Hela's frigid blue eyes snap back into attention and she lifts them to him. Her body gains the slightest edge of unease and Thor quietly exhales with frustration. He means her no harm. The only reason he has to keep _doing _harm is because _she's—_

The blame game doesn't solve this.

Hela says nothing.

Deciding that's probably better to not receive an affirmative or refusal, he hesitantly takes a seat next to her on the dusty ground. The wall of the stone is rough and digs into his back despite the armor between his skin and the surface.

Hela's gaze rests on his face. She's quiet a long moment before, "Here to drag me back?" Something sounds funny about her voice. It's almost slurring, as if the words aren't distinct. There's a faint rasp to the tone as well, as though she's been drinking.

_Yes._

"No." Thor shakes his head. "But it would be best not to lose you. Something could have happened."

"You're not concerned over my wellbeing." Hela waves a dismissive hand, "Just everyone else."

Thor bites at his tongue, withholding a wince. Are his intentions so plain? He needs to work on that. He's going to be—_is—_a terrible king if he can't get himself under control. Loki used to say he wore his heart on his sleeve. Nothing has changed, apparently. Blowing out a breath, Thor realizes he feels like he's approaching a wild, but spooked animal. "What are you doing?"

Hela's eyebrows lift the slightest edge as if the answer should be obvious. She sighs a moment later, seeming to deflate. "It's not dark here." Thor remains quiet, waiting for her to append something. "Helheim didn't…" she trails off, clasping her hands together as if uncomfortable. "It didn't have a sun. A few wisps of light occasionally, but it was so frequently dark."

The reasoning as to her pale, waxy complexion suddenly clicks into place. She hadn't seen a sun for hundreds of years. Something that tastes surprisingly like commiseration settles on his tongue. It wasn't exactly the answer he was hoping for, but it's something. He can work with something.

"You're not…" he stops, trying to find the right word. "Running?"

"Where would I go?" Hela counters a moment later, looking miserable. "I have no allies. No means of transportation. Nothing to offer." She rubs at her left arm dully. "I have nothing."

Thor bites on his inner cheek for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. _For the first time in my life, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. _He'd admitted that to Selvig more than six years ago now. Hela's words seem like a strange echo of that.

Thor does not have his family's way with words. He's constantly making a mess of himself, but he tries to be tactful as he says, "You have my belief. You may not...not have started this journey as a hero, but I don't believe anyone beyond redemption." He can't, he'd be so hypocritical if he did. _He needed redemption once, too._

Hela snorts. "You're naive."

"Maybe." Thor agrees, "But that doesn't make it any less true."

Hela tilts her head towards him, blue eyes strangely desperate. "_Why? _We're not friends. We're not family. Not even allies. You should just leave me here. I can rot away like dear old Dad wanted so desperately."

Thor tastes blood. He releases his tongue, "I'm…" he trails. _What is he supposed to say to that? _"You're my sister." He says lamely. "Family doesn't give up on one another."

Hela quiets. She keeps rubbing at her left arm dully with her right hand's fingers.

Thor allows the silence to settle for a long few minutes, watching the sun slowly track its way down the horizon creating glistening colors of pink-ish and red light. A thought occurs to him as he watches her and he glances up, "How is your arm? The one that I stitched?"

Hela blinks several times, looks at him, and then her arm, stilling her movements. "Nothing to concern yourself over."

"Can I see it?" Thor counters.

Although she looks like she might refuse, she sighs and, with a hesitation that's probably deserved, tugs up her sleeve. The stitches are gone, though Thor can't recall doing it and assumes that Loki must have at some point. It was cut at an awkward angle though as if done too late or with an unsteady hand. It's left scars.

The skin is stitched together, but Thor can still see the faintest edge of the darkened color where the dwarven metal is resting. He resists the urge to touch it, though curiosity dictates that he must. Thor remembers her panic from last night—_my arm hurts—_and privately wonders if this injury had anything to do with what happened in her dream. Or whatever that was.

He doesn't ask. After the provisional alliance (he doesn't think that's quite the word he's looking for. Maybe "truce" would be better) he's formed, he doesn't want to push any harder than he should. He's tired of fighting. Tired of arguing, of expecting betrayal at every corner. Just _tired._

"We should get back to the ship." Thor mutters, dreading to see this moment end. To return to his duties and try to apologize for whatever he did to make Loki's temper alight. He breathes out through his nose before getting up. He brushes himself off before turning to his sister and offering his hand.

She eyes it for a long moment before clasping it with her own. He pulls her up to her feet.

Hela is quiet as they return back to the _Statesmen, _and Thor trails after her, trying to feel something other than frustration. They survived the attack, they'll be leaving this stupid planet soon, Hela wasn't murdering anyone. These are all victories.

So why on the Nine does it feel like he's lost so much more than he gained?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support! :)
> 
> (Also, *cough* look, Hela didn't try to murder Loki or Thor this chapter. She's grown so much.) 
> 
> Next chapter: November.


	5. Replay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so, so sorry for the delay. I had writer's block of doom. Thank you so much for your support! You're all amazing!
> 
> Special thanks to GliderPilot for their insight for this chapter. :)
> 
> Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, panic attacks, PTSD, vague suicidal idealization, blood, and self-imposed surgery.

* * *

He remembers her voice first. The soft undertones as she went over the words, smooth and careful as if afraid of somehow failing. He can't recall the book she was slowly working her way through, but he knows that he'd thought it utterly captivating. Nothing else mattered but reaching the conclusion of the story.

Then it's the feeling of her hand looped around his stomach to keep him from tumbling off of her lap, how funny her fingers felt. _Bone, _he remembers thinking, _she feels like bone._

There's others beyond the largest piece of a memory in his head, but this is the clearest thing. Everything else is just...jumbled. There's bits of conversation flooding in and out, their father appearing enraged in the middle of it and tearing the book from her hands exclaiming, _why are you reading this book to him, its for children! _And he knows she replied coolly, but the words evade him.

She wasn't there often, but she didn't...she wasn't killing him.

She didn't seem to _hate _him.

He remembers seeking protection from their father's wrath, clinging to her leg and hidden beneath the swaths of fabric for her cape, sobbing. He was—is still, he thinks, somewhere far and distant because he's not a fool—terrified of Odin. She had let him stay there. She had...he doesn't know. It's been a grueling process as piece by piece has shifted in, starting with Norway. She'd clambered out of the portal looking half dead and spoken and all he remembers is being _startled _because he wasn't supposed to know her, but _he knew her voice._

His father...hadn't he banished Hela before he was born? Wasn't she stripped of her titles, family, and position before he was even an idle thought? _How _can he have memories of early childhood with her? Are they even real? Or just a vivid, reoccurring dream?

_(Why are you reading this to him? It's for children!_

_He_ is _a child.)_

Thor is beginning to remember Hela.

And he shouldn't.

000o000

They're coming for her. They're going to catch and kill her, too. She won't get away in time. She never does.

She's running through the streets. Her feet are pounding against the ground as breath escapes her in great, heaving gasps. She keeps trying to hiccup from the sobs, but the breathless pants refuse to let her cry properly.

Her heart is thudding against her chest painfully, making beneath her sternum pulse.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

The smell of blood is thick from where it stained her skirts, and she hates the scent of it. Another hopeless sob bubbles up in her as she remembers the source. The clopping of horse hooves makes her come to a halt; slapping a hand over her mouth as she ducks behind rubble from what she suspects was a building.

Looking to closely through the broken windows provides a perfect view of the dead man and woman inside. They're laying on their backs, looking up towards the ceiling, glassy eyes focused on nothing. Blood stains their throats, spilling onto the floor. There's blood everywhere.

There was blood all over her maman when—

A voice is calling her name. They sound almost desperate, and her shoulders slump with relief as she recognizes it. Slipping out from behind the rubble, she throws herself towards her papa, another hysterical sob building up.

"Papa,_ Papa,_ I'm here!" she calls.

Papa's eyes look towards her and she sees open relief cross over his usual stoic expression. As soon as she's close enough, his strong hands swing her up and into his arms, letting her bury her head and hide her tears against his armored chest.

"Papa, they killed her," she moans.

"I know child," he says solemnly. "I saw their work." There's a dark note in his voice, but she does her best to ignore it, gripping at his armor and trying to be strong. Strong people don't cry; at least, that's what Papa's told her. He's the wisest person ever, so he has to be right.

"Sire," the High Commander says quietly. He was behind Papa, along with more than a dozen other warriors. She thinks of the red eyes and frozen blades, repressing a shiver. She tips her head to look towards the High Commander, but keeps herself firmly pressed against Papa lest he decide she's too old for this again and puts her down. She doesn't want to be put down. She wants to be held forever and ever until he makes it all go away.

Until her maman's dead eyes stop staring at her when she closes her eyes.

"What?" Papa questions harshly.

The High Commander's expression is solemn. "My men have searched for hours and are exhausted. There are no survivors." His eyes shift to her, facial hair twitching slightly above his lip. "None but the Princess. We...we need to start cleaning up the bodies, what would you have us do with the Queen?"

Papa tightens, something hard shifting into his face. "Take her back to the palace. Tell Rya to prepare another body...and that we'll send her and the others to Valhalla tonight."

Another sob escapes her. Maman is dead. She's not coming back. Her hard face, but gentle hands will never move again. They'd never have _life _again. She's never going to hug her maman's warm body or hold her hand.

She's gone.

Because of the Jotnar. They've taken so much already in this war. They killed so many with the plague they released not a decade ago. Why did they have to attack her _maman?_

_Why did she have to die, too!?_

"And what would you have us do about Jotunheim?" the High Commander intones, voice somehow softer, but angrier. "Would you have us stand by and let this offense be taken _wordlessly?_ They have gone beyond simple plagues, raids and skirmishes. This was the murder of hundreds. They _killed_—"

"I know very well of their actions." Papa snaps. He breathes out slowly and closes his eyes. The High Commander lapses into silence as he waits. Papa's expression furrows and she wipes at her face while he's not looking. Her eyes are puffy and hurt from so much crying. She's being stupid, she knows, but she can't seem to _stop._

Her maman had told her to run, shoving her with bloodied hands, and she hasn't been able to stop crying since.

She's so pathetic.

Crying is for babes, and she's much older than that now.

"We're weakened. The Queen's legion was among our best, Laufey must have known that. We need something bigger if we hope to win this war. Something to comeback with, but we don't _have anything." _Papa thinks aloud, voice barely above a snarl.

"A weapon." The High Commander suggests, resting his hand on his sword. "We need something more than what they attacked us with. Something beyond the Bifrost. It was nearly destroyed with the Gatekeeper."

"A weapon." Papa repeats under his breath. His gaze slides to her, and she feels strangely cold. There's very little warmth in his familiar gaze. Just a cold detachment. His grip against her shifts a little, less protective and more open as if hoping something will come up and take her from him. She panics at the thought, trying to bury herself into his arms again.

_Papa, my arm hurts._

It doesn't work.

_Papa, my arm hurts._

"A weapon," Papa muses, gaze still lingering on her, analyzing her. "Yes. We need a weapon."

_Papa, my arm—_

Hela jerks awake to the sound of vomiting. It's oddly stifled, as if someone is trying to silence themselves but failing when their stomach refuses to comply with their wants. She breathes out heavily, trying to calm her racing breath. Her hands are trembling and her entire body is stiff.

It's dark.

She _hates _the dark. The only light on Helheim was when she created it herself, and she rarely used it for pleasure. _She can't do this. She can't. Breath. Breath is not—_the darkness feels oppressive, and the vomiting has lapsed. The Stygian is going to swallow her. Hela lifts her right hand up and bites sharply on her fingers, trying to focus on anything beyond her head, wincing slightly when the movement rattles the ever-present pain from the enhancement. Nothing can help it. She's just had to adjust, as she has everything else.

Her fingers taste dry.

Vomiting. Who is vomiting?

Hela blinks, trying to ground her head, even though she feels miles away from lucidity. Her mind keeps trying to go back in time, replay memories she's well acquainted with now. The darkness slowly fades into distinct shapes before taking on the familiar hue of a sickly gray-green. It offers better vision than she had before, even if this was never perfected.

She shoves up onto her left elbow, throwing off the thin blanket away from her legs in an attempt to de-tangle herself. She flicks her gaze around the space, trying to see who's missing. Thor is still on the couch beyond her, breath rising and falling rhythmically from his position on his back, face relaxed and arm thrown over his stomach. The blanket he was using is tangled up around his upper body, leaving his feet exposed to the cold.

Loki, who was beyond the blond, is no longer present.

Hela lifts her gaze up and concludes that he must be vomiting. She squeezes her eyes shut and tips her head back for the briefest moment, promising that if he caught something in the tight quarters of the _Statesmen _and told no one for the second time, she's going to leave him to suffer it without guilt.

She's not doing that again.

Hela untangles herself fully from the blanket and nearly stumbles onto her hands and knees in her attempt to get off the couch with how jittery her limbs are. Her bare feet hit the cold floor, the ridges of the metal now long familiar to her. It isn't nearly as quiet as she was hoping for and she winces, glancing towards Thor. He doesn't move, dead to the world.

Hela squeezes her eyes shut and thanks the Norns that it went unnoticed.

Rising to her feet smoothly, she pulls her hair away from her face as she moves towards the washroom. Tucking it back into a ponytail with ease, she quiets her steps and comes to a stop in front of the door. She hesitates for the briefest moment, debating what she's _doing—_why she's bothering—before elbowing the button on impulse.

Her stomach curls, but she throws discomfort to the side.

Her hands are still trembling. She curls them tightly, digging nail into skin and folding her fisted hands across her chest. The light blinds her momentarily and she squints, waiting for the adjustment before she takes a step into the doorway and stops.

Loki, unlike what she was expecting, is standing in front of the dirty mirror. He's not leaning over the porcelain bowl and heaving his guts out again, though it's obvious from how pale his skin is and how red his eyes are that something isn't quite right with him. Loki's fingers are digging through his hair on the right side of his head, a little above his ear, lifting it up. His hair has always been fine, but she didn't realize that there's a sizable chunk of _missing _hair. Instead, all there is _is _a oval-shaped burn a little smaller than half a finger in length, but wider than two fingers put together.

With the way he slicks back his hair, she never would have suspected that he's _missing _part of it.

_What the?_

Childhood accident? Battle scar?

"That looks recent." The words slip out before she can stop them in mild surprise and slight disgust. She knows burn scars; has plenty on her body and caused enough to know that whatever touched him must have nearly dug to bone there. And her observation holds. The wound can't be more than a decade or two old judging by how the scar tissue has cleaned itself up.

Loki jerks, jumping away from the mirror in surprise and Hela comes to the realization that he must have missed her presence. Strange, he's usually more observant. A half strangled expletive escapes him as he drops the hair and scrambles back, hand gripping at the wall when he sways dangerously. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes watery and red.

Mm. He looks...terrible.

There's a hunted look in his gaze as he grips the wall, trying to stay upright. His wild green eyes look at her as she takes another step into the washroom. The sensors on the door give and it automatically slides shut behind her. Hela ignores the sense of unease that rolls between her shoulders.

"What are you—" Loki's raspy words fail and he has to work to get something else out. "Is Thor—?"

"No." Hela interrupts before he can finish. "No, he's still asleep."

As far as she's aware.

She didn't do anything beyond a visual check.

Loki slumps with relief, biting on his lower lip and pushing harder against the wall to keep balance. She keeps a considerable distance between the two of them and works with words for a moment, trying to determine how best to phrase her question. "Are you _dying?" _she demands.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut, "Why are you in here?"

"I don't sleep heavily. I heard you get up. I didn't think much of it until the vomiting." She says flatly. With a tone almost imperceptibly softer, she asks, "Is another plague passing through you unfortunate lot?"

"No." Loki answers heatedly. His eyes are still closed and he seems a breath away from collapsing.

So this _isn't _like last time. Good. She doesn't know if she wants a repeat of last week. Wants. Stupid choice of words. She doesn't know if she can _handle _it. Thor's fiasco with the poisoned water on Fire Sweets was bad enough. They really don't need another sickness to sweep through the ranks of the Aesir and actually kill someone instead of just make them uncomfortable.

They might as well be Midgard now with how sick everyone keeps getting.

That's two major illnesses in fifteen weeks since they stepped aboard this Norns cursed vessel. It's not exactly impressive. Norns, her father would have—

"No?" Hela counters, refusing to glance at the mirror when it catches the corner of her eye. She's been tempted to smash it more than once, and with how frazzled her head is right now, she doesn't know if she'll be able to refrain this time.

She's hated her appearance since she was born.

She doesn't need the reminder that she's grotesque.

"_No. _Will you stop? I'm perfectly fine." Loki snaps harshly. She lifts an eyebrow, pointedly sweeping her gaze up and down his frame. Bone is jutting out. His skin is so pale and stretched it looks ready to snap like a bow string if given the proper leverage. He's looked like this for weeks now. It's only been getting worse, and she suspects it isn't from a plague.

"Listen." Hela starts carefully, forcing her tone to level. "I'm not a healer, but even a blind man could see that you're sick."

"It's _nothing." _Loki grits out.

"Darling." Hela sighs in annoyance, trying to reign in her temper. "I'm trying to help. Will you _let _me help?"

Loki laughs softly. There's something twisted in it before he attempts a step forward—as if to defy her—but his eyes widen the slightest bit around the edges and he crumples a moment later. Hela reacts before she thinks, crossing the distance between them with ease and catching him underneath his arms before his head can smash against the tiled floor.

She swears under her breath, pulling his lax body against the wall and leaning him up against it. Hela flicks fine hair away from his neck and reaches for it, attempting to feel for a pulse, but Loki's hand stanches out and grabs her wrist. Wild eyes look up towards her.

Loki breathing is barely above a little wheeze, hardly passing for much more than the sounds of a dying animal.

"Brother," Hela says. The word still sounds funny on her tongue. Uncomfortable. _Not hers._

"_Stop touching me!"_ Loki shoves her hands away and scrambles back from her, air exploding from his lungs. He's cornered himself; and she pauses, trying to tread on this carefully. As if she _could _if she tried.

She's many things.

But a comforter isn't on that list.

"Loki," Hela's voice is hard. "Loki, stop it." She reaches out a hand tentatively, trying to test the water. The night that Thor and Loki...after she...after _it _keeps coming to mind, giving her something to try and mimic. She doesn't know how to console. How to show _empathy. _No one ever taught her.

_She has no idea what she's doing._

Loki flinches back from her, releasing a heaving gasp and his eyes flick up for the briefest moment as if searching for something before his hand twitches. He's panicking, she _knows _that. (She has no idea how to _stop _it, but at least she knows what it is.) His actions won't be clear and he's trying to protect himself from her (_always with good reason. She's never been much of a—). _She sees the flare of sedir and irrational panic washes over her.

_Papa, my arm—_

"No," Hela breathes. Scrambles away from him and nearly falling over herself in her haste. She won't go back. She can't do another round of it again. _She won't go back. _No power on in this universe can her father conjure that will put her back in their grasp, strapped down and cut open until they've determined she's ready to leave again.

Something breaks air as if being heavily dragged.

What—?

She looks up and sees her gleaming, ugly reflection looking back at her. The mirror. The mirror is falling.

Hela draws a sword with her left hand, attempting to scramble up onto one elbow. Her arm flails awkwardly, but she manages to catch the edge of the tipping mirror with her sword before it shatters across the ground, redirecting it. Bits of the glass still dig into her skin, but it's mostly superficial. Her hand immediately begins to weep blood and she feels her face start to as well.

Loki.

She tips her head, hair falling over her shoulder as she looks back at him. His eyes are glassy and he's staring forward at nothing. The edges of the mirror touched his bare feet, but nothing serious. The larger pieces are scattered out across the floor in front of her.

And they're _everywhere._

She swears. A heaving pant escapes her lips and Hela drops the sword. It clatters against the floor, only adding to the noise. What is she doing? Why did she think she could _help? _She's not—

_This._

This is beyond her.

She's good at killing things. That's it. _Why did she think she could help? _Help. Really? Her purposes were far less noble than that. She wanted a distraction from her head. She wasn't throwing herself into giving aid because it's the heroic thing to do. She was, as always, thinking of herself.

She hears the door open, turns to look towards the source, and sees Thor stop in the doorway. His eye widens almost comically as he takes in the damage, her, and then Loki behind her, and he swears sharply. Although not as much of a light sleeper as she is, he apparently didn't miss the mirror shattering. She doesn't know who would have, given that it wasn't exactly a _quiet _noise. She's not awfully surprised.

Perhaps a little annoyed.

Vaguely embarrassed.

"What did you—what is going on!?" Thor demands, stepping into the room. He stops before he can get any closer, eyeing the glass spread around them with wariness. He's wearing socks, at least, but she and Loki might as well have pranced around in the shattered mirror's remains with how badly their feet are cut. If she doesn't clean herself, she'll only leave footprints of blood everywhere.

And that will make a mess. No one likes cleaning up blood.

Hela's words fail her. She opens her mouth to say something sharp and heavy, but she sees Loki burying his head into his hands and can't. That is her fault. She didn't even discover why he was sick. _Marvelous job, per usual._

Thor strides closer, ever careful. "What did you do?" he demands of her.

Hela gawks at him for a moment. "Why is it _me _that did something?"

Thor spreads his hands out wide, looking almost frantic. "Why would it _not _be?"

Maybe he could _try _to have a little faith in her character. Not that there's much to have faith in, but Norns curse it, she's been _trying. _Ever since that day on Fire Sweets when Thor assured her that she had his belief. She's _tried _and it's meant _nothing. _No one ever wants to see anything but perfection. She's well accustomed to that. But she'd _hoped—_

"Loki dropped the mirror." Her voice has lost any life, leaving it strangely flat. "I broke it before it could kill someone."

"Why would Loki—?"

"As if I know!" Hela counters sharply, jerking a hand out towards him heatedly. "You're his sibling, not _me. _Since I'm _obviously _nothing more than the initiator of this whole incident, as usual." She scoffs, taking a step around him and ignoring his wide-eyed stare. "Norns, you act just like Dad. You must be so proud."

Thor gapes at her. His mouth opens and closes several times as if he's trying to process what she said and comes to the conclusion that he can't.

She swallows the unease building in her throat and slips past him into the outer room. She debates with staying here, trying to see reasons why it would be a good idea, but comes to the finalized conclusion that she shouldn't. She's not helping anything.

She's just going to make it worse.

Hela's teeth grit and she grabs her boots, making for the exit. She leaves a trail of bloody footprints, but finds that she can't get herself to care.

000o000

General Brunnhilde finds her first. Hela's sitting on the counter of what she suspects is supposed to be the grand kitchen—no one ever uses it—a tool she found in the drawer in hand. She has no idea what the actual purpose is supposed to be for, but she's been picking glass from her feet and calves for the better part of an hour with it.

The general takes one look at her, the bloodied cloth beside her and the growing pile of glass cluttered together before she sighs and leans against the doorframe. "Who's the victim, Commander?"

The title, as normal, is sneered with sarcasm. Hela glares at her, stilling any movement. Memories of the general's continued disgust through centuries of work flit through her head, reminding Hela why she'd been more than happy to run the woman through when she and the other Valkyries arrived on Helheim. The others were under her command. They were her soldiers. She didn't want them dead. She doesn't _like _killing. It's messy. More effective, but messy.

General Brunnhilde has always been different. Especially when Odin _said_—

And then they'd arrived on Helheim to—

She swallows her anger and looks back down at her feet, pulling a thin piece of glass out. "Oh, we're on talking terms?" Hela questions cheekily, watching more blood pool. It doesn't hurt. Most pain is ineffective. It has been since Odin decided she didn't need it anymore.

"Where are Thor and Loki?"

She sighs, annoyed, and scraps stray glass fragments off her foot with a shaking hand. "Mm. Don't know. Dead, I hope." The words fall off her tongue before she can really think on them, but she doesn't attempt to append further or correct herself. She imagines they're still in the room, but she doesn't know for certain.

She hears General Brunnhilde shift against the doorframe. "If you did something to the King and Lackey—"

Hela slaps her palm down on the counter, effectively shutting the general up as she scowls at her. Why does everyone assume it was _her? _Odin always did. General Brunnhilde has. Her mentors. Council. Peers. If something went wrong it was _her _fault because she's the experiment. The _odd _one.

Monster.

Breathing out slowly and reminding herself that stabbing General Brunnhilde will only displease the general populous—who are, for reasons she can't fathom, _as always, _fond of the woman—Hela looks back down at her feet. She grits her teeth, digging out more glass. She's running out of pieces. Her left foot is already cleaned. If General Brunnhilde hasn't left by the time she's finished, she'll have to look the woman in the eye.

"I did nothing." Hela says stiffly.

General Brunnhilde makes a disbelieving noise. Her patience bends, folds, and then snaps.

"Don't you have more Valkyrie oaths to breaking?" Hela demands, looking up at her. "Dragging more people into slavery? Getting drunk? Treason?"

General Brunnhilde flinches, her jaw growing tight. Hela's words have stung. Good. She's never been able to get her voice to hurt as much as everyone else around her can. "Because you're so much better," General Brunnhilde snips. "Murderer."

Hela smiles with teeth. "I am, aren't I? But I, at least, didn't desert."

_This _sends the other woman into a flurry of movement. "You have no right—" General Brunnhilde starts, taking a step forward, finger raised. She exhales a forced breath, but is still obviously angry. "You have _no _right to accuse me of something _you _started. I wouldn't have left if you hadn't tried to kill me on Helheim."

The metal bends from how hard she's gripping it. "Still playing the part of the victim?" she asks softly, carefully. "You really do exceed in that roll, darling."

General Brunnhilde's jaw sets. "I am _not _wallowing in self pity."

Hela looks her up and down. "Mm. Clearly." Before the woman's temper can explode completely—and part of her is so very tempted by the concept. The Norns alone know how much she wants to fight something right now—Hela returns her attention to her feet and asks: "What do you want?"

"A lot of things. Your death is pretty high on that list, _Commander_." General Brunnhilde snaps.

Yes. Well. She wouldn't be alone in that, would she?

"Noted. _And?" _Hela pushes. She grabs the rag from off the counter and swipes at blood so she can see the glass with better clarity. When the general refuses to answer, Hela forces a smile to tug at the corners of her lips. "Speechless already?"

Angry eyes stare towards her.

"For the record, I came because I was following blood. I thought someone might be injured, but it's quite clear I don't need to fret. No one of _importance _is hurt." General Brunnhilde doesn't waste another moment dithering. Turning on her heal, she all but throws her way through the open doorway.

Hela grits her teeth, the counter's rough edges digging deep into her palms from how hard she's pushing. The metal tool snaps in her other hand and she startles at the sound, looking at the two halves of it. She stares and stares and _stares_. There seems to be something significant about it, but she hasn't the faintest on what that would be.

Dropping the remains of the metal into the pile of broken glass, Hela buries her head into her hands and _breathes._

000o000

Hela hates herself for it, but she can't stop _thinking. _She can't get Loki's horrified eyes to stop looking at her when she closes her eyes; Thor to stop the flinch back from her, and eventually she determines that she either has to sit her and wallow, or _do something._

She's never been one for wallowing. It was far more Odin's expertise. She _does _things. Sitting and thinking about how miserable she is isn't going to solve anything. Only serve to make the situation drag.

And there isn't a need for that.

Not now.

She growls under her breath, swipes all evidence of her disaster into the rubbish bin and wiggles her feet into her boots. The familiar worn leather does little to help her mood, and she suspects that it doesn't assist her injuries either. Not that it matters, she can't feel it and they'll be back to functioning properly within the hour. She's been _gifted _so.

_Lucky her._

Hela avoids the Aesir beginning to make their way from the sleeping quarters of the ship. With such cramped space and little else to do, the Aesir gather in large groups in the bigger rooms. Hela hates the small space of the _Statesmen. _She can walk from one end to the other in less than two hours. She knew Asgard by heart before her imprisonment and stomped her way across Helheim enough times to make a map with her eyes closed. She hates confined spaces. The last place she wants to be is a Norns curse it tiny _boat._

She feels Heimdall's gaze linger on her when she passes him, but beyond shooting him a nasty look, she doesn't acknowledge his presence. Hela hadn't realized how grateful she'd come to be for Loki's spell over the room, but the reassurance that a small pocket of the _Statesmen _is without his burning stare is enough to stop her from outright strangling the gatekeeper.

Hela swears under her breath when she reaches the door and comes to a stuttering stop.

She has no idea what she's doing here. Thor and Loki will function _fine _without her shoving her way in and attempting to play the mediator. Or whatever her goal is. Not that, she thinks. She'd fail miserably. Tensions have been thick between the two ever since Fire Sweets, as if there is a great unspoken thing that neither of them wants to address.

And Hela has no idea what that would be. She's known them for a total of what? Three months? Beyond a ceaseless lingering _boredom _that has followed the _Statesmen _like a third plague, she has had very little to do but observe; and they haven't exactly been tipping over buckets of secrets for her to gander through.

They exist.

Listlessly.

Norns, she can't do this. How far is Midgard? Ten, twelve months? They're almost a quarter through the journey, then, but she's going to pull out all her hair before they get there. A year is, really, not much time at all in contrast to the rest of her life. But it feels like an eternity. She's not meant for this. She needs to go. She didn't exactly leave on a good note, but she's not about to burst inside and plead for their forgiveness.

She's not going to _beg._

Hela closes her eyes and releases a heavy, long breath. It feels hot as it passes through her nostrils. Her hand is hovering over the button. If she twitches right she'll accidentally bump it. She hates how much this reminds her of that first night she chose to join Thor and Loki, hovering outside the door for the better part of ten minutes before pretending it was just an afterthought when she'd finally sauntered inside.

What is she doing?

_What is she doing?_

Hela pushes. The door opens automatically and she inhales before stepping into the now-familiar space. There is no blood split across the room and one corpse waiting for her at the end of it. She wasn't _really _expecting that to be so, but predicting either of them is…hard. They settle into routines they easily break, react to things she thought they wouldn't. It's probably just that she doesn't understand people.

Hela takes another step into the room, opening her mouth to call out in question, and nearly startles when Thor practically manifests in the corner of her eye. He has a finger lifted to his lips, an exhausted, but desperate look in his eye.

Hela snaps her jaw shut, narrowing her eyes. The door closes behind her, but the lights are blazing fully, casting away any lingering shadows. The room doesn't have windows, but the buzzing bulbs are enough. She remains where she is for a moment before turning on her heel and walking to the blond.

He meets her in the middle, running a hand through his already mussed hair. It's getting longer, but that seems intentional. Part of Hela wonders if he's always kept it long before Sakaar. When he was younger he would—

She cuts of the thought, defenestrates it out a metaphorical window, and grounds herself in the present.

The past holds nothing but pain. She knows better than to dip her toes there.

"What are you doing?" Hela questions, her voice is as quiet as she can get it.

Thor's lips are pinched together in an unhappy line and it's obvious it takes him some effort to part them. When he does, his tone is deathly soft, "Loki just fell asleep. I'd rather we avoid waking him for the time being."

It's been over three hours since she left. Has he _really _been fidgeting all this time? Hela shifts, folding her arms across her chest, flicking her gaze across the space. After a moment, she _can _spot Loki on the couch. He's wrapped in a blanket, curled into such a small ball that it offers the illusion he's far shorter than he actually is.

He's still pale. Cheeks flushed. Hair tied back. Sick.

"Is it _really _that dire?" she asks.

Thor makes a frustrated noise, shaking his head lightly and jerking his head towards the washroom. It's really the only area among this open space that's private, so she can see his reasoning, even if she doesn't particularly have any desire to be back at the scene. She follows Thor into the room and sees that the glass has been swept towards the far wall.

It's not the best clean-up job she's ever seen, but it's enough. There's a lot more blood stains that she was expecting. Her feet weren't bleeding _that _much and it hardly nicked Loki. She took the brunt of the shatter.

Thor lifts himself up onto the countertop, grimacing openly and his hand goes to his side. Hela tracks the movement, then lifts her gaze up towards his face. She knows injuries. She knows _stabs. _Most of that blood, she suspects, isn't hers _or _Loki's.

It's Thor's.

"Loki?" she guesses, dithering for a moment before climbing up on the other side of the sink. The wall looks strange without the familiar murky mirror, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit she's rather fond of the change.

Thor releases an affirmative noise, letting his hand linger on the area. "He...didn't recognize me. There was a lot of glass."

Hela blinks. "So he _stabbed _you?"

Thor makes a face. "Not...not really?" He doesn't sound certain, and Hela doesn't know how he could be _confused _about it. She's never had to be conflicted about whether or not someone plunged a blade into her skin. She usually sees it. Hasn't felt it for a long, _long _time, but she knows what it looks like. "He just pushed me. Into the glass. It wasn't that big of a deal." Thor appends.

_Into the glass. _He says it so flippantly.

Hela pulls her feet up, balancing on the small edge of the countertop with hardly a second thought. She's always found comfort in heights, stupid as it is. Balancing on said heights, no matter how small the ledge or angle, has been a skill she's never needed to work at. It has always just _been._

"Are you alright?" Thor looks towards her, his expression strangely earnest.

She has to remind herself not to be startled by it, but she _is. _His concern for her well-being, even if it is a grand facade, is something she's not used to. She never knows what to _say _to his inquiries. Does she list out injuries? Offer a detailed report of what he'll find the most relevant? Say nothing? She doesn't _know._

"I'm fine." She settles on. "What happened? You obviously have something you want to talk about, darling, else we wouldn't be in here."

Thor looks like he's biting on his lower lip before he says, slowly, "I think something is wrong with Loki's sedir. I haven't...he hasn't said anything, and _I _haven't said anything—Norns know I should have—but he's...sick. And I don't know what else it would be."

Hela's fists clench. Her breath does something funny in her chest at the mention of the power and she hates herself for it. Can't she _handle _the mention of the craft without feeling the familiar thrum of panic began to pulse through her stomach? She's _fine. _Almost as far away from Asgard's healing wing as she can get. Far away from all their needles, potions, restraints, and the _pain._

She doesn't mourn the loss of her realm. She's relieved by it. Let her take all the blame she justly deserves; the Norns grated mercy by letting Surtur finish his work.

Loki.

Sedir.

"Are you _certain _he hasn't caught another bought of the plague?" Hela questions wryly, but sobers when she sees the nasty look Thor shoots her. She sighs and throws her hair over one shoulder. "Fine. _Fine. _I'll admit I've noticed the regression too. What do you want to do about it? If you're looking for someone to council with, you would have better luck with your dear doctor." The Midgardian term slips off her tongue funnily. She doesn't think she pronounced the first half right judging by how Thor's eyebrows lower slightly in confusion.

"Bruce doesn't know anything about sedir," Thor shakes his head, rubbing his face. "He still believes it to be some sort of mystical power granted by a higher being. Not a different type of blood."

Well, throw him a pity party. He's an idiot. Nothing exactly mind blowing.

"That still doesn't answer my question." Hela says pointedly. "I asked what _happened, _not what you were thinking, brother."

Thor sighs. "There's not much to say. Not much I _can, _anyway. Loki didn't really talk. It took me forever to finally convince him I wasn't a hallucination, but he kept asking when "the other" was going to make an appearance. And I don't understand half of what he was rambling about when he _did _talk. I think he's more sick that I first thought."

Hela hums, rubbing along the bones of her knee. "_And?"_

"And then I cleaned him up and nearly knocked him unconscious before he fell asleep. I told you, there's not much to _say."_

"That's not it." Hela says. She flicks her eyes up to the ceiling in annoyance when Thor _still _keeps his mouth clamped shut and resists the urge to lean across the sink and jab him into the arm until he answers her questions. Patience has never been something she's very good at. A learned trait, certainly.

Helheim was nothing but waiting.

"_Thor."_

It's the use of his name that does it. Thor flinches slightly, looking away from her to the pile of glass and shifting his feet uncomfortably. "I think that with how Loki is...how he's not well, he's...casting out magic without knowing? I don't know. I—" Thor bites at his lip, clenches his fists, releases, "I'm beginning to _remember_ you."

Hela's insides go cold.

Her hissed words to Skurge, _does no one remember me?, _suddenly seem far less terrible than they were. A certain type of shield, for people to only know _of _her sins, not have any data they can offer as written proof.

She tries to steady herself, but her world feels like it's tipped and the contents are being rattled up and down until everything is in chaos. "Oh?" Her voice feels weak. It's not as confident as she was hoping for. She wants it to be hard and bite, but it sounds lost.

"But it's not just _me." _Thor continues like she hadn't spoken, "Which is the strangest part. I was talking to Vili yesterday and he mentioned wanting to talk with you because he thought he remembered talking to you when you were younger."

She clenches her fists around the rim of the counter. Her memories of Vili have never been fond. He's always been professional, keeping a wide space between the two of them. This man was always first and foremost a member of Odin's council. Not her uncle.

_Not now. Not now. Not now._

_She can't handle this now._

Thor looks like he's biting back tears or laughter. "And the weirdest part is that it feels so _real. _Not like some of the other illusions Loki has cast in the past. Those...those were different. And never just in my _head._"

Hela swallows thickly.

Thor blows out his cheeks, makes a noise, and then shakes his head. "Am I going crazy?" He looks to her, "Why would this even be a side effect of...of whatever's going on? You were banished before I was born," _oh, so he just _assumes _that? _"So how could I—?"

"Have you considered the possibility that it actually happened?" Hela interrupts. Thor stops, looking at her blankly. She refuses to back down first or show her unease by looking away. "That I…" she trails, wanting desperately to pull her gaze away from Thor's. "That I was actually there?"

The blond is shaking his head even before she's finished her sentence. "No. That's...you were banished before we entered the Golden Era. Because I was born at the beginning and if you weren't banished before then...then you must have known me as a child, but that's not poss—"

The bit of information slips out before she can stop it. "I helped you learn how to walk."

Thor goes still, his face whitening. He looks like he might be sick, and Hela feels like she'll follow. She swallows, trying to breathe through her suddenly tight lungs. Her hands hurt, but she can't remember clenching them. "Do you really think that I was _gone _before you were born? How would I have known who you were?"

Thor's expression has cleared. There's nothing but a slight tightness next to his eyes. With how much he wears his heart on his sleeve, the sudden lack of it throws her. He's always so easy to read. Now he has gone hard. Cold. She doesn't know what to do with it.

Will he just _say _something!?

Hela's lips part, she doesn't know what she plans on saying, but Thor shakes his head sharply suddenly and looks up at her. His eye is narrowed. "Are you serious?" his voice is flat. "You _knew _who I was. You _knew me. _And you still—How long?"

The pressure of her fingers is worse. She thinks she might break skin. "I—"

"_How long were you there?"_

"Until a few weeks after Loki was brought to the palace." She admits. Thor swears sharply, hopping off of the countertop and fidgeting. He paces from one end of the small space to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Hela follows him with her eyes, uncertain.

Thor runs a hand through his short hair before looking back at her. "Jotunheim. Loki. Do you _know?"_

"That he's not Odin's child? Yes." Hela says, biting on her inner cheek sharply. She'd never thought it a good idea for Odin to take a random Jotun babe back with them to the capital city. But Odin, as always, had ignored her. "That wasn't my decision."

"You—" Thor stops, and his fists clench as he turns away from her. Hela stares at him, but she doesn't _understand _what he's thinking. He seems to be flipping between acceptance of this and anger. She wants to leave. She made sure neither of them were dead. She accomplished her goal.

But there's no where to _go _in this stupid ship. No where she can be alone without the expectations everyone has of her. There is no stables with Fenris awaiting to sneak off to. No mountains to scale until her limbs are shaking so badly she can't move for hours afterwards. Nothing to carve, nothing to build a replica of.

There is only the steady thrum of the engines and the vast, open stars of space.

Thor stops suddenly, his spine going rigid as if an unhappy thought has just occurred to him. Hela lifts her gaze, staring at the back of his head. The blond turns slowly to face her, shaking his head softly. "I can't...you _knew me as a child, _and the first thing you try to do after seeing me for centuries is _kill_ me?"

Hela tilts her head. They remember that sequence of events very differently. "I was defending myself, darling. You _threw _Mjolnir at me. What was I supposed to do? Stand idly and let it hit me?"

Thor throws up his hands. "You _just _tried to throw your title over us. You were commanding submission and Loki and I weren't about to bow before a nothing queen!"

Hela's jaw tightens, but she bites back a worse comment and instead says, "Will you _please _stop playing victim? You _must_ be good for something else."

Thor's eye narrows again before he closes it and releases a long breath. Almost abruptly, the frustration seems to drain from his shoulders. She can tell he's still angry, but he's making an effort to relax. The motion startles her.

Thor folds his arms across his chest, "I'm not going to fight you over this."

"You just did."

"I'm not going to _continue _to fight you over this." Thor corrects himself. "There's not a point." With that said, he turns on his heel and exits the washroom without another word.

Her left hand is shaking.

It hasn't stopped since Surtur.

000o000

She's gripping her bloodied arm, panicking. She's panting, stumbling down the halls in a desperate search of Papa, but everywhere she looks he isn't. She has to avoid the guards lest they take her back, and it's taking more time. Her left arm is split open, the blood pooling into the skirts of the dress they gave her. She slipped out of the restraints when they left her alone with effort, but she had to _get _away.

She runs into Papa by chance. Her head rams into his knees when she turns a corner sharply, and she gasps before making a desperate noise.

"Daughter?" her father says, obviously surprised. "What are you _doing? _Aren't you supposed to be with the sedirmasters?"

She shakes her head desperately, lifting her mangled limb up for him to see. "Papa," her voice is a rasp. "Papa, please, my arm hurts." She whispers. His eyes are losing their surprise and narrowing. She lifts up the limbs and shakes it roughly, "Papa, my arm hurts. Help me. _Help me."_

He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her back. "You idiotic child. This is for your own benefit. How could have been so reckless as to run off? You could have gotten yourself killed or worse. Come with me, you need better medications. A little pain should never be enough to stop you. How will you ever be a warrior if you can't handle a simple cut. Shush your incessant crying."

"It's _not _just a cut, Papa!" she wails, "Papa, they cut my arm open. They made me stay wake for all of it and they poured this burning hot inside and now it's—its—"

"I _told _you to be quiet!"

"Papa, _please—"_

"Hela?" the groggy voice snaps her from her head and she blinks several times, trying to _breathe. _Her head is foggy, refusing to settle. She knew that messing with the injury wasn't the wisest decision, but she'd needed something to do. It's not like the problem was going to fix itself anyway.

Her hand slips and the thin knife jerks inside her forearm, scraping against bone. She grimaces because it looks like it should have hurt, but she can't feel anything.

Her shoulders tense at the sudden noise, but she only spares Loki a quick glance. He's standing behind her, awake for the first time since yesterday. The blanket is wrapped loosely around his shoulders, the canteen of water Thor left for him before attending to his duty as king several hours ago gripped in one hand. Loki's eyes are blown wide, angles all sharp. He still looks terrible.

"What are you doing?" Loki's voice is barely above a croak.

Hela looks away from him, returning to the limb and refusing to look back. She shoves the memory from her head, refusing to let her subconscious tap at it again. She doesn't know what's wrong with her. She can't stop thinking about the events that haven't happened in centuries. Like her birth mother's murder.

Loki's hand wraps around her wrist suddenly, long thin fingers tipped blue at the edges. Her brow furrows for the briefest moment with confusion before Loki steps up next to her. "Are you _cutting your forearm open?"_

Hela sighs heavily, looking up towards the ceiling for a moment. "I had to."

"I really don't—"

"There's something wrong with the enhancement. I need to see it to fix it. I can't feel the pain and I've cleaned up any spilled blood if that makes you feel any better." She says flatly. Loki's expression has thinned, narrowed eyes boring into the depths of her soul. Hela shakes off her unease. "You should probably lay down. I don't even know how you got up."

"The dwarven metal." Loki says suddenly. She stares at him blankly. "I saw it in your arm. You said enhancement. What _is _it?"

Hela's breath does a funny thing in her chest. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

Loki looks down at her arm, looking both disgusted and fascinated all at once. "That isn't normal, is it?"

"Darling, it's not." Hela's voice is hot. "Trust me, it's not."

"Then where…?"

Vague pieces seem to slip into place all at once and Loki's eyes widen. His grip around her wrist goes lax, and his tone is barely even. "You weren't born like this, were you? Able to command death, summon weapons, nearly indestructible."

Hela gives a slow shake of her head. "No."

_She can't breathe._

"So they…" Loki's mind is obviously whirring, "you were..._modified?_ You _chose _this?"

She jerks away from him so sharply he stumbles. She doesn't care. Ripping the dagger from her arm she feels something inside of her give a loud, shattering, _snap. _She jerks the bloody dagger out towards him.

"Are you jesting? _How _could you think that I ever would have _wanted this?"_ She gestures towards herself vaguely, feeling disgust flick across her face for a moment. "_Who _would never want to know when they're bleeding? Who would ever want to know what it feels like to create a weapon _through _your skin? To have your father drag you to torturers insisting that it was _going to help?_

"Odin made me into a weapon, and _I never wanted it! He made me into a monster! _And then all he had to do was just point me in the right direction and watch the rampage. He killed me. He killed me so many times that the sedirmasters were prepared to revive me every time he demanded something more. If Laufey hadn't found my nearly dead body that day on the battlefield than _I would be dead. _How could you ever assume that _I. Chose. This? _I have had enough of this! _I've had enough, I've—" _she cuts herself off.

She wants to keep screaming. Howl until her voice cracks and dies. Until she can't talk for days.

But she's done that enough on Helheim to know it never helps.

Loki's face has lost any remaining color. He'd leaned away from her when she began her yells, but abruptly stiffens at the end, his sharp eyes lifting to her face. He drops the canteen. The water spills over the floor between them, and they both watch it slowly track it's way across the floor. As it touches the edge of Loki's foot, it freezes on contact almost immediately.

"L—Laufey," he barely works his tongue around the word. "_Laufey—"_

She snaps her teeth together, gritting her jaw. She hisses a swear under her breath and wishes she could gather all the words she just said and stuff them back inside, but words cannot be taken back. They can never be unspoken.

"How—_how_—" Loki can't seem to _talk._

She's broken him.

She's never been very good at keeping things together.

"Laufey wouldn't—" he flinches at the words. "He wouldn't help. Help you. He's not that...he's not _good. _Jotuns are...they're…monsters. They don't..."

"Laufey saved my life." She says heatedly. "Monster is a little strong of a word for that, isn't it?"

"He...he...he abandoned me." Loki sounds like he's being strangled. His lips tighten at the end of the words and he looks away. She gets the strangest impression its the first time he's said those words out loud.

Hela stops.

She looks him up and down and feels her jaw go lax for a moment. Dozens of pieces she'd wondered over for centuries click into place and she wrestles her tongue off the roof of her mouth.

He's...

_He's_—

What?

_This can't_—"You're Laufey's _son?"_

Loki flinches, and then shakes his head sharply, suddenly, _desperately. "_No! I'm _not! _I'm not his—I am no one's son."

"_Laufey is your father?" _she gapes, taking a step forward. The anger in her stomach is getting sharper, darker. "Odin _kidnapped _the heir of Jotunheim!? He took Laufey's _child?_"

Loki jerks.

Hela releases an agitated breath. "Your father would—"

"_LAUFEY IS_ NOT _MY FATHER!"_

She grabs his arms, ready to shake him, but snaps back from him, flinching when his hands jerk. He lifts two fingers and makes a sharp cutting gesture. A tangled noise of panic slips through her throat, but nothing shoots from his hands and hits her. Nothing inside her _breaks_. Loki's wrists glow brightly, the sedir alighting visibly before her hair stands on end and Loki makes a gasping, wet noise; slamming a hand against his chest. Over his heart.

He collapses to his knees on the ground, slipping on the ice and barely catching himself. The blanket slides from his shoulders as he coughs several times, spitting out blood. Hela watches him warily, hands still lifted over her chest, even though she feels stupid for it.

Blood is spilling out of his ears, out his mouth, through his nose. He's bleeding them from his eyes like he's weeping it.

_What the—?_

Loki looks up at her, lips parted as if trying to say something before he dry heaves and spits thick globs of blood all over the floor. He's still gripping at his chest, clawing against the fabric like he can dig through it and skin to reach his heart if he pushes hard enough.

Something wrong.

This isn't—isn't _normal._

Loki's fingers, tipped blue since the conversation started, lose their white sheen. Blue spills across his body and Hela watches as the well known ridges and familial marks of Laufey's house spill across him. He looks like a far younger and smaller version of the king.

"Hela," Loki gasps out, but the word thick against a liquid. Blood. "Hela, _please."_

He reaches for her desperately, limbs shaking. There's so much blood everywhere. His eyes are wild and frightened. Filled with an exhaustion so deep it seems to age him several decades. He's dying, she realizes. And she knows he knows that, too. Something has gone wrong with his sedir and now it's going to kill him.

The only person that will know what happened will be _her._

The only person that can _save _him is her.

And if she does, her life debt to him will be repaid. She owes him this much, doesn't she? For saving her life, even if she'd much rather the hadn't. He saved her from Surtur. He had no reason to do so. She is bound by honor to return the courtesy. She has no other reason to do this. She has no other reason she _wants _to. Maybe, if she keeps telling herself this, she'll actually believe it.

Hela grabs his bloodied hand, as he collapses, hauling him up and into his arms. He's lax and boneless in her arms, head tipping back. Blood is in his hair and down his neck. She stares at him for a moment longer, vaguely sick.

She runs for the hall, screaming for Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate toxic positivity.
> 
> Also, small note, I split chapter 2 in half because 23K was huge and, as Zaniida once pointed out to me, it's much easier to read shorter chapters. Writing this story as one-shots has been awful, so we're probably going to be looking at shorter chapters and more frequent updates in the future. :)
> 
> Thank you again for your support! You're all awesome!
> 
> Next chapter: December. Probably before Christmas.


	6. We Are Going Backwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's early? Tis I! I know, you guys are baffled and wondering if it's January now, but no. It has only been a week-ish since I updated. Shorter chapters are wonderful.
> 
> Thanks so much for your support last chapter guys, really made my week and helped me feel enthused to write this! I'm glad that you liked it so much. I was nervous about introducing Hela's POV into the story, but I'm glad that it went over so well.
> 
> Lots of love! =D
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors.
> 
> Warnings: Some gore, violence, vague suicidal thoughts, slight racism.
> 
> ****
> 
> ***Just to be clear about this: Loki is not Hela's child. I know that it's a fun idea people like to play with, I sort of want to give it a go myself, but not here.

* * *

Thor becomes aware that something is wrong when he hears the shouting. It's not the kind that would arise jovially, or the victorious screams of a battle well fought. It's the frantic yelling of something gone _wrong. _Heimdall's head lifts, eyes widening the briefest moment and it's all that Thor needs as confirmation that something is going on.

He's on his feet before he can remember standing and shoving his way from small room the curia regis has gathered in, out the door before anyone can protest. He draws his sword and runs in the direction the noise is coming from. He can't think of anything that would cause such commotion. The disaster of Fire Sweets is long behind them. They aren't near any ports; the most recent visit was two weeks ago and they aren't due for another for at least a week.

It's probably not an attack.

But it sounds like someone is _dying _for all the fuss his people are putting up.

He bursts into the communal room, the vast window stretching out towards space winking at his attention for a moment before he can focus on the center of the chaos. Asgardians are all gathered near another entrance, some moving or frantically waving their hands, but a majority standing and looking uncertain about what to do. People are talking.

Almost _everyone _is talking. The noise is deafening.

He comes to a halt, baffled. What the—?

"Thor!" that's Hela's voice. Almost an entire octave higher in what sounds like stressed panic, and he swivels his head, narrowing in on the center of the Aesir again. She's there. A head of dark hair that sticks out almost painfully among everyone else. "_Thor!"_

Thor snaps into action, shoving his way forward, "_Move!_" he commands, voice booming out around them. He hates how people flinch back from him warily; the tone reminds him of Odin, and he feels strangely sickened by it.

He shoves his way through the crowd, making only a half-hearted attempt to part for him, and when he finally gets close enough, stops in his tracks completely. The sword threatens to slip from his grip and clatter against the metal floor.

That's Loki. Thor thinks it is, but he just, he _can't_—His brother is covered in blood. It's smeared down his face and neck, dripping to the floor from his ears and soaking his dark hair. The blood is only what catches a quarter of Thor's attention, though. Loki is..._blue. Loki is Jotun._

He has known about the adoption for the better part of six years now. It _isn't _new information. He remembers very vividly his father walking him back to Gullapassetin shock after Loki let go, herding him through the palace until they reached the family's private wing. He'd been shoved onto a couch in the sitting room adjoining their separate chambers, and listened to Frigga and Odin have a quiet, but hissed _row._

Frigga had entered later looking tired and worn through, but sat down in front of him and explained the entire situation.

Odin had never said a word.

He hadn't even _been _there.

Thor _hadn't understood _why Loki had done what he had. He hadn't understood why Loki had gone insane and turned the Bifrost on Jotunheim, bitter and frantic with every word and action. _He knows Loki is Jotun._

And it shouldn't matter.

Because Loki is his sibling. Has been for as long as Thor can remember.

But—

_All-Fathers._

Thor still recoils backwards a few steps, feeling an expression of open disgust wash over his features. He hasn't seen Loki's Jotun skin before. He wasn't even sure if Loki was capable of shapeshifting into it. His mother had never explained the circumstances around Loki's appearance. If it was a shapeshift or a glamour, Thor still doesn't know.

He'd thought…

_He'd forgotten, _if he's being honest with himself. He had always known on a subconscious level, but he and Loki never talked about it. They yelled it at each other and Loki made every possible jibe on it possible in the situation with Jane and the Aether, but there's a difference between _speaking _over it and _realizing it is real._

He can't get his feet to move. Sound is whirring past him and he knows that Hela is attempting to shout something, but he _can't get himself to move_. His eye is pinned on the blue beneath Loki's bloody face.

That can't be his brother.

It's not—

_It's not Loki._

Something brushes against his arm as it passes, and Thor jerks, eye pulling away from Loki for a brief moment as Bruce comes barreling into the scene. The man's eyes are blown wide, face white, but he moves with purpose. He's a doctor, Thor remembers. He's trying to help.

Like Thor should be doing.

He thinks he's going to be sick.

Bruce makes a move to grab for one of Loki's lax arms hanging loosely from the death grip Hela has on him, maybe intending to feel for a pulse, but releases an agonized shout and stumbles backwards, his hand blackened, red and _steaming. _Loki's skin is so cold it reacted with the water on Bruce's palm.

_That can't be Loki._

Bruce grips at his wrist, shaking it violently several times and Thor sees the frost bite only spreading down his arm, across his wrist, up towards his elbow…

Volstagg had had trouble gripping anything for weeks after Thor's march onto Jotunheim, even with Eir's aid and attention. It's going to be worse for Bruce, Thor realizes, because his skin is thinner than theirs. His biological buildup isn't the same. _It's going to be worse._

People are reaching for Loki.

Weapons are being drawn. He can't tell if it's in _defense _of Loki—a rescue attempt, from his sister—or intending to do harm.

Hela violently kicks someone in the stomach who gets close with a shortsword, sending the woman flying back into the crowd. His sister yelling at him, and Thor feels nausea build up on his tongue. He has no idea what she's saying and can't get his head to stop spinning long enough to process the words. Is Loki awake? Does he _know _what's happening? How people are reacting? Why—?

Why...Why is he bleeding? What on the Nine _happened?_

Loki looks like someone dumped a bucket of blood over his head.

The ground rumbles and Thor jerks, looking up to see Hulk burst out of Bruce's skin before he releases a deafening roar. Sound comes smashing into Thor's head with vigor, finally processing right again inside his skull. The Aesir have gone still, wide eyes pinned on Hulk. A few expletives are released before there's only silence. Thor hears the distinct noise of one of his sister's weapons being drawn and jerks.

She's shifted Loki in her grip so she has a free hand, eyes narrowed. She has no idea what's going on. None of them do. Thor may have spoken of the Hulk, but the only people who have had one-on-one experience with him since the beginning of their journey is Thor and Brunnhilde.

Hela spins her sword, looking prepared to fight to the death and Thor finally feels the hold release him. He jerks forward, throwing himself between the Hulk and his sister, hands spread wide. He drops the weapon and lifts up his hands in surrender. Hulk turns, narrowed, angry eyes pinning Thor in place.

"_What _is _that?" _Hela hisses behind him. "You didn't tell me that your Midgardian was a _shapeshifter."_

"He's not." Thor whispers, and turns his attention back to his teammate. "Hulk, hey, it's been some time. You've been letting Banner run free and I was wondering when you'd show up again, so, it's um, good to see you and we're—"

Hulk pushes him, admittedly with far more gentleness than Thor was expecting, out of the way and singles in on Hela and Loki. Even with his teammate holding back strength, Thor still feels the ground leave his feet and lands in a heap of tangled limbs on top of several other Asgardians. Twisting around, panicked, Thor shoves his way up. Hulk's last encounter with Loki didn't go so well. Is he going to repeat that? Doesn't he retain memories—feelings?—of Bruce? Shouldn't he know that Loki _isn't _their enemy?

Hela makes a frantic movement with her sword, attempting to sweep at the green mass, but the blade barely nicks skin. Thor's surprised before he remembers that Hulk is virtually indestructible. Drawing blood from him is like ripping the horns off of a bilgesnipe when it's still alive: it doesn't happen.

"What the—!?" Hela starts, only to make a frantic noise as Hulk scoops Loki's broken, battered frame from her arms. Thor scrambles up to his feet, diving for his sword as Hela draws another. He rolls to his feet, hating that he has to _do _this, but prepared to fight his teammate all the same, and—stops.

Hulk turns, gaze rapidly scanning the crowd before he shoves through several Aesir scrambling to get out of the way and plucks a woman up by her arm—Eir, Thor realizes. Ignoring the panicked shout she makes, Hulk dumps her into a clearer space of the room and settles Loki down in front of her.

"Puny god broken," Hulk rumbles, "fix puny god."

Eir stumbles over herself, unable to come up with an intelligent response.

"_Fix." _Hulk growls.

Thor feels his arms drop with surprise, the sword faltering in his grip. Hela's hard face flickers with confusion deep enough to match his own. Hulk wasn't...he was...they..._what?_

Eir moves then, hands fluttering over their sibling, gold light trickling. She swears loudly and looks up. "Hivá, Naren! Come here! _Now!"_

After a moment and a scramble through the thicket of Aesir, two women break away from the crowd, moving for the head healer.

Loki. Blood. Death.

Thor forces his way forward, sheathing his sword. He passes by Hulk who watches him with narrowed eyes, but makes no movement to stop him this time. Hela, at his side, eyes his teammate with obvious distrust, but she's unarmed.

Thor comes to a stop behind one of Eir's aids. Magic is already whirling around his sibling, golden streams of light working together in what looks like an attempt to create a soul forge. They aren't succeeding. They don't have the proper equipment for that to hold someone's vitals steady enough that they can manage the action without causing permanent harm.

It's why Eir's aids had to keep shoving Jane down and telling her to stay still.

And they don't...they're equipment is basic. Medical supplies wasn't exactly high on their list of needs when they've stopped by the ports. It hasn't seemed _important. _Food, water. They needed that. Blankets. Clothing. But medical supplies wasn't an immediate need because they have sedir. That was, and has been, enough.

Part of the problem, Thor suspects, is that none of them can actually _touch _his sibling without suffering consequences. Loki is..._that. _Judging by Eir's damaged, blistered and burned left hand, that had slipped her mind at first.

He can't get his tongue to move. It feels stuck against the roof of his mouth. The healers are speaking frantically to each other, and Thor can really only process a few words that register inside his mind. The rest whir past him.

"What's wrong with him?" Thor questions at last. His voice sounds awful. "Can you tell?"

Eir looks up at him for a brief moment, and then her gaze slides to Hela. The head healer gives a low shake of her head and waves her fingers sharply, brushing away one of her aid's attempts to create a symbol over Loki's chest with sedir. "Don't." Eir says sharply, turning her attention of the girl. "This isn't Aesir biology. You'll kill him if you try and tap there."

"But I've—"

Eir silences her up with a stern look, and then turns to him. "Get everyone out of here. I can't focus with their staring and they're covered in bacteria. Loki is weak enough as it is. Someone coughs and he'll be crippled. Our time frame is already limited as it is. If you want to see your brother alive by the end of the hour, don't ask questions now. Wait outside. The Prince isn't stable enough to move."

Thor gawks. "But I can't just—"

"You can and you will!" Eir's voice isn't quite a shout, but it's clipped enough to make him take a step back. She breathes out slowly. "Stop making me talk. _Go!" _She points towards the exit and waves her hands pointedly.

"Hulk stay." Hulk says firmly.

Eir looks up at him, "_What? _No! The last thing I want is—"

"_Hulk stay." _Hulk repeats, harder. "Puny Banner want to help."

One of Eir's aids makes a choking noise. "My lady…" she starts quietly.

Eir shakes her head, waving a hand. "No. I don't have time to protest this. Fine. Stay." She looks up at him. "That's _it. _No one else. _Get out. _Naren, start clearing the blood clotting. Wipe up his face—without contact. Use gloves. The damage is already bad enough—"

Thor opens his mouth to further protest and then snaps it closed realizing there isn't a point. He tears his gaze away from Loki's bloody, pale face with reluctance. He feels like he might be sick when the blue hue gleams in the light, blood creating sharp angles in the lighting.

_That can't..._it _is _his brother, whether or not he's going to accept that. Eir can handle...whatever this is. He has full faith in that. He's _trying _to have full faith in that. Thor forces himself to focus and herds his people from the room, dread settling comfortably in his gut.

000o000

Thor's leg is bouncing. Up and down it goes, a frantic fiddling as his hands wring and wring and wring. His gaze won't focus, hopping from one thing to another, but rarely staying on anything long enough for him to register it.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Hela, beside him, is completely still. Her expression is something Thor can't quite make out, a mixture of anger and confusion. It doesn't help settle any of his nerves. He can't _talk. _Every time he tries his throat closes up and he only succeeds in releasing a breath or making a half-strangled noise. He can't ask what happened. He still doesn't know anything beyond what he's picked up from the other Asgardians.

Hela arrived in the room with a bloody Loki in her arms and they attempted to stop her before she could "hide the body."

They've been talking amongst themselves quietly, all squished into the hall or adjoining rooms and waiting for Eir to exit. It's...it's strange, if he's being honest with himself. He can't really remember anyone doing this for Loki before and the realization makes him sick.

Ignorance is both a blessing and a curse.

He sees the head of Heimdall poking through the crowd before Brunnhilde squishes her way between a couple and comes to a stop in front of them. Her eyes are wild, jaw tight. Her vision narrows in on Hela and she storms forward. Without a word of warning, Brunnhilde grabs Hela up by the throat and slams her against the wall, the Valkyrie's Dragonfang gleaming in the light as it presses against her neck. Hela makes a slight noise as Thor startles, jumping up to his feet and grabbing the hilt of his sword.

"What on Bor's severed head did you _do!?" _Brunnhilde demands harshly.

Hela squirms in the grip, grabbing at Brunnhilde's arm to ease the pressure when she can't get free. "Nothing!"

"_Certainly!" _Brunnhilde makes a noise that's somewhere between a frantic laugh and a hiss, "Just attempting to hide the condemning evidence? Lackey was bathed in his _blood._"

"_Now_ you decide to be loyal to the crown?" Hela almost mutters the words, seeming far less concerned that she should be. Thor wants to throw up his hands and scream. _Why _is everyone's solution for _everything _murder? He wants to grab Brunnhilde and rattle her back and forth. Mostly, as stupid as it is, he wishes that _someone _would step in and deal with this.

He is so tired of having to play mediator. It's not something he's very good at.

Instead of yelling, he forces himself to breathe. Thor grabs Brunnhilde's forearm, fingers brushing against Hela's bony ones for a moment. "Val," he says quietly, "please."

Brunnhilde's fiery eyes don't even glance at him. "You'd feign innocence, even now, with more than a hundred witnesses stating that _you_ dragged Lackey in?"

Hela makes a slight noise in her throat, feet flailing for a moment as if she's trying to get her toes to touch the ground, but can only scrape it. "_I. Didn't. Touch. Him."_

Brunnhilde laughs. Hoarse and hollow. "Why am I even surprised that you'd pull this stunt after the kitchen?" _The what? "_Of course you'd go after the few people I actually know on this bloody boat. You're just a _nice _person like that. I say one thing that hurt your feelings and now you have to go and murder someone. _Again."_

Thor tightens his grip, shooting Hela a heated stare when she opens her mouth to respond. Norns, does she know when to _stop? _Brunnhilde seems to be ignoring him entirely, digging the blade deeper into Hela's throat. "Enjoy purgatory. Course, you might not even qualify for that." Brunnhilde tips her head a little in what is probably supposed to be a sympathetic gesture, but instead comes across as callous.

His sister makes a gagging noise, finally seeming to realize that Brunnhilde isn't just threatening her. She digs her nails frantically into the Valkyrie's forearm and Brunnhilde makes a pained face, but doesn't stop, only pressing harder.

Thor's face goes white.

The skin on Brunnhilde's hand is rotting.

_Hela is killing her._

"Sister—" Thor starts to protest, moving to intercept her grip without success. All of them still as Heimdall violently steps up, grabbing Brunnhilde's shoulder and shoving her backwards into the gathered group of Aesir. Hela falls to a heap on the floor, coughing violently.

"That is _enough."_ Heimdall says flatly.

Brunnhilde makes an agitated noise, spinning her weapon and looking prepared for round two. Thor jumps in front of his sister's prone form, hand going to his sword. There isn't a need. Heimdall's interference seems to have shaken the Asgardian's off their shocked staring and several grab for Brunnhilde's arms.

"My lady Valkyrie," one man murmurs, "I think you have made your point."

"Let me go, I'm going to kill her!" Brunnhilde seethes.

"No. You're not." Heimdall says, stepping beside him. Thor feels his shoulders go lax with surprise, his jaw nearly dropping. He's..._what? _For all the weeks that Hela has spent among them, this is the first time Thor can remember anyone helping him defend her beyond Loki.

They're...helping...him.

"You can't murder a member of Odin's household!" a woman snaps harshly. Thor thinks she worked in the palace, she's familiar. "Let our beloved king rest in peace, _without _his children joining them before their time."

"Her time was centuries ago!" Brunnhilde argues, struggling further. "I'm trying to help all of you, why are you stopping me!?"

"Because she was my commander." Heimdall says softly. The group has begun to cluster around the Valkyrie. Thor can't stop blinking. He can't _comprehend _this. The dreams…

The _memories._

He _knows _that he isn't the only person to be experiencing the return. He's talked to Vili about it before. He just didn't realize how wide-spread the memory wiping _was. _All of Asgard? The Nine? What did Odin _do?_

With the people properly capturing most of Brunnhilde's attention, he turns back and grabs his sister's upper arm. Before she can protest or wiggle her way from his grip, he makes for the hall. The people part wordlessly for them, a few offering a dip of their head in respect as he yanks his sister through them.

When he comes to the first unoccupied room—it's the same place the council was meeting, not twenty minutes before—he shoves her down onto one of the chairs.

Hela goes without a fight, hands rubbing at her throat. She's blinking owlishly at him.

Thor backs up a step, closes his eyes and allows himself the brief tremble of his facial expression before taking control of himself again. He turns, making for the exit. "Stay here. I'm going to deal with Brunnhilde."

Hela doesn't say anything. If she tries, he doesn't hear it. She doesn't stop him.

He steps into the hall and navigates back towards the group. He was gone for less than five minutes, but most Asgardians seem to have dispersed. He doesn't know where they went, and doesn't really want to ask, even as terrible as that is. Brunnhilde is standing in front of the remaining ones, being spoken roughly to by a few older members. Their hair is speckled with gray, speaking of their age. They must be from before Hela's generation.

They probably _knew _her.

Thor steps up and grabs Brunnhilde's arm. She flinches, twisting around to grab his forearm, clearing intending to break his fingers to remove his hand, but stops when she recognizes him. The Aesir quiet, looking to him.

"Brunnhilde, we…" he swallows, suddenly realizing how _many _eyes there are. He feels far less confident about this than he did a few minutes ago. He lets his breath come out, but draws it to last instead of exploding. "We need to...not here."

Brunnhilde's eyes are narrow, but she glances towards the Aesir before nodding and stepping up beside him. Thor nods gratefully and leads her away from the group. He takes her in the opposite direction he left Hela, awkwardly worming his way through the gathered Asgardians and pretending he can't feel their snide staring.

When they reach an empty hall, Thor comes to a stop and releases her elbow. Brunnhilde pulls away, folding her arms across her chest and taking a step back. She's probably trying to see his face better. Her eyes are narrowed. "I don't know whether to thank you or hit you."

He winces. "The former?"

Brunnhilde's eyes thin further. Not a laughing matter. Alright. He won't bounce around the point, then.

"You tried to kill my sister." He says flatly.

"I did."

"You aren't sorry."

Brunnhilde scoffs. "I'm supposed to be?"

Thor runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head and resisting the urge to groan. "What did she do? Spit in your tea? Steal your favorite toy?"

The Valkyrie's lips split apart into something nasty, but weirdly...pleased? "She didn't tell you?" At his blank look her grin widens. "Oh, Commander. So like you, isn't it?" Thor bites on his tongue, realizing Brunnhilde is likely going to start talking on her own without prodding. The woman folds her arms across her chest.

"You know she's younger than me, don't you?"

Wait, _what?_

She's—

Thor looks Brunnhilde up and down, thrown. His lips part wordlessly and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat. No. He didn't know that. Honestly it's the strangest thing to him that Hela is...younger than anyone than his father. It's just...with how no one knew her, and how _ancient _she seems to be sometimes...he'd started assuming that…

Dumb, but he'd…

Brunnhilde's face twitches, something tight in her jaw. "Sakaar...warps time. It's on the outer edge of the galaxy. By the time we get back here…" Brunnhilde blows out a breath, tucking her hands close to her sides. "A dumb place for someone trying to drown out time, but I _was _born before she was by two hundred years. When your father was going to choose the High Commander from the elite Valkyries, he picked her. Not me. Everyone said it would be me."

Thor waits, but she doesn't add anything. He draws back somewhat. "That's it?"

"_It?"_ Brunnhilde repeats.

"You...tried to kill her...over a position?" Thor says the words slowly, not understanding. It's such a trivial thing for such hatred to have grown, flowered, and be well on its way to spreading out like a weed for.

Brunnhilde tips her head. "What do you think this is? Feelings time? Our problems aren't going to get solved by talking about _emotions. _I knew her for over a millennia. There's more. There's _plenty _more. She's probably just bitter because Odin favored me more than her."

"But you _just _said—"

"Not in _that _circumstance. Spoiled brat got everything she wanted, so it must have been a shock to have _some _of the golden attention seep from her." Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. She's still so tight. Tense. "I told you already. I'm tired of getting pulled into your family's drama. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather we drop this here."

Thor wants to keep pushing. He wants to drag this out of her word by word until he knows the whole story, but he _can't. _Brunnhilde has clamped up. He won't get a word out of his sister. He bites at his tongue, but forces himself to remain calm and stoic outwardly. He nods.

Brunnhilde starts to move away, but Thor grabs her bicep. "Val." He says and she stops, looking back. "Don't do that again. My sister is off limits."

Brunnhilde gives a dangerous smile. "You'd think a lot less of her if you knew half of what she's done."

"Would I?" Thor counters. Baiting.

Brunnhilde leans towards him. "I wasn't lying, you know? She did slaughter half the palace. And do you want to know the circumstances?" her tone drops, going flat. "She did it for our enemy; committed treason of the highest order. She slaughtered them for Laufey. She was helped him escape. To Jotunheim."

_What?_

She—

_What?_

Thor feels his jaw go lax. His grip on the Valkyrie loosens and the woman slips away, something bitterly satisfied in her gaze. "Don't condemn me, alright? Everyone seems convinced I'm the villain here, but I actually _knew _her. What she did. Who she became. You know _nothing _about her."

Brunnhilde twists around, hair flipping over her shoulder as she storms down the hall. He doesn't stop her, watching until she disappears. She's right. Thor knows only what he's observed. What he saw above Hliðskjálf. There are no history books he can consult. The only experience he's had with her has been the last three months. Anything before that...

Thor's mouth tastes terrible.

Hela…

_Laufey…_

_Treason?_

000o000

"The good news—the _only _good news—I can give you is that he's alive." Eir says, nearly six hours later. Thor's following after her into the room, hands fidgeting by his sides. They've moved him. Loki is no longer in the common area, but the room he and his siblings have occupied since arriving. He doesn't know when this happened. He was busy. Preoccupied, on purpose. It's easier to work than to think.

Thor nods. He doesn't like the implications of her statement, but at least Loki isn't _dead._

Again.

Eir is moving forward quickly. "He's as stable as we can get him for now, but I don't want to leave him alone. The complications that can arouse from this…" she shakes her head, "I know your thin on time, but the Prince will need someone beside him for the next few days, perhaps well into a week, on a constant basis."

They come to a stop in front of the couch. Bruce is standing next to it, looking tired and tense, but still manages a weak smile when he sees him. Thor dips his head in acknowledgement, letting his gaze slide to his sibling.

Loki is...still. He's been cleaned up, but it doesn't really help his appearance. The color of his face doesn't look quite right. His brow is tight as if he's in pain despite being asleep. His hair is shorter. Did Eir have to cut it? He's…

Jotun.

Blue.

_Stop it._

He clears his throat, trying to gain some semblance of control even though he'd rather be sick instead. Bruce's gaze drops to empty space on Thor's right, eyebrow raising. When he speaks, his voice is lowered. "No Hela?"

Thor shakes his head. "Couldn't find her. Heimdall is looking, but…"

He knows where Brunnhilde is. They aren't having another go at their hissy fit. She just vanished. When Thor returned to the room, she wasn't there and no one has seen her since. Thor tried not to be concerned about it, but it's hard. Much harder than he would have first guessed.

Brunnhilde's words keep sticking to all available sides of his brain, a skeptical voice that's followed by pessimistic commentary.

He doesn't need to know her location. He's trusted Hela not to do anything to anyone before. Why is that different now?

_You know _nothing _about her._

Thor turns to Eir. Her aids are gone, and Thor suspects it's the woman's attempt at offering privacy. That means that whatever she has to say isn't going to be good. He draws in through his nose, bracing himself. "How is he?"

Eir rubs her forehead. "Not good. Not even _okay."_

Thor nods, biting on his inner cheek. "He wasn't...attacked?"

Bruce snorts loudly before Thor can finish that thought. "Are you kidding? Unless your bad guy can create a heart rupture without having broken skin, then no. No attacking."

Thor turns to Eir for an explanation. She presses her lips together. "How much do you know about sedir collapse?"

He feels himself go still. He looks back towards Loki frantically as his heart drops. A low swear hisses out between his teeth, but as much as he wants to cross the distance between himself and his younger brother, grab Loki up and shake him roughly several dozen times until he declares it all some sort of prank...he can't.

He can't _move._

"You're jesting." Thor says. His lungs are tight, wrapped with a bow. "Please tell me…"

Eir's shaking her head, expression mournful. She rests a hand on Thor's shoulder. "I'm sorry. We did what we could, but I don't...I'm not hopeful."

"You said that his heart ruptured." Bruce is looking between the two of them. "Sedir collapse. You...what? This sounds like a death sentence. You said you got him stable."

"I explained in terms you might be familiar with. Sedir is a form of blood, Dr. Banner. It is pumped through the heart like any other. I won't bore you about the differences between inborn and learned, but putting too much strain on sedir can…" Eir trails, clearly thinking of a term that Bruce might recognize.

"It's like an overdose." Thor says. His tone is flat. "Loki pushed too hard, and his body can't process his sedir anymore. It's poisoning him. It's rare. Very rare, but it still _happens. _What the Nine did Loki _do _to cause this!?" Thor throws up his hands. "He's not stupid. He _knows _how to pace himself. Loki is one of the best sedir wielders in the Nine Realms. Better than my father. Better than _anyone _I know! How could he have—Magicked so stupid—it—he—augh!" Thor's words fumble.

"Dr. Banner, thank you for looking over him while I retrieved the king. Would you mind giving us a moment of privacy?" Eir asks. Thor reads between the lines easily: _more_ bad news.

_Curses._

_What else is there!?_

Bruce pauses, glancing towards him and then gives a slight nod. "Yeah. I'll, uh, just be outside, alright?" He moves towards the door, but pauses briefly to squeeze Thor's shoulder. It's supposed to be in comfort, but it only makes him feel sick.

When the door lapses shut behind the doctor, Eir turns to face him properly. "To start, I only moved him here for safety. Your father's..._Loki's, _I suppose, if the last four years were _his_ reign, revealed his heritage, but not everyone took it well. You know that things between Jotunheim are still tense."

The treaty Odin made them sign after Loki fell is terse. If Asgard wasn't _gone, _war would have undoubtedly broken out within the next century. Some wounds are too deep. There's too many scars. Hate.

_Loki is Jotun._

"Loki is barely stable. I wouldn't move him if you could avoid it." Eir continues, oblivious to Thor's whirring thoughts. "I had to restart his heart twice."

Thor snaps his gaze to hers. "He's...he. It. You."

"I say that as a _warning. _The sedir collapse...if he...he _does _awaken, will take time to heal from. He shouldn't touch it for the better part of half a year if he's _lucky. _I've heard of cases that lasted decades."

Loki can't...that can't be _him. _Loki uses magic like Thor uses oxygen. He's less flashy with it than he used to be, but he _loves _it. Thor came to the conclusion a long time ago that he's seen Loki only half alive until he's using the craft.

_Decades?_

"But…" Thor trails. He can't fight a diagnosis. He can't fight _reality. _His shoulders slump. "Do you know what happened? He's been looking awful for weeks, but I can't think of something specifically that would have caused this."

Eir's lips press together. She's quiet and still for nearly a minute before releasing a soft breath and jerking her head for him to follow. His numb feet trail behind her as she moves to Loki's side. Thor pulls his gaze away as quickly as he can from Loki's face. He looks so much like Laufey it makes him sick. The ridges trace across his cheeks and chin, baring the heritage they've done their best to avoid discussing.

_Loki is Laufey's child._

He can't pretend that away anymore. The cold, hard facts are laid out in front of him. _Loki is Jotun._

Eir kneels down next to Loki's head and traces gloved fingers through his hairline. After a moment, she parts the fine hair and Thor's eyebrows raise up. What the...when did _that _happen? There's a scar there. It looks obnoxiously red and white against the blue hue. It's a little bigger than a pebble. A burn scar, because hair growth has halted completely. If Loki didn't slick back his hair to cover it, it would be fairly obvious to an untrained eye.

"My aid noticed this when she was cleaning out the blood." Eir says quietly. "I don't know what caused it, but I don't recognize it."

The unspoken question floats through the air. Thor shakes his head. "I don't...maybe Surtur? It's the only thing I can think of."

"But it's older than a few months. Look," Eir gestures to the edges. "The scar tissue is turning white here. I...think. It's harder to tell visually. I'm not as familiar with Jotun burn patterns."

Thor's stomach flips.

_Jotun._

Eir presses her lips together. "And there's more. He has scars. Everywhere. Your brother has always been prone to injury, but this doesn't seem like it's from that."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm _suggesting _that Loki has recently been intensely tortured. I can't tell for certain without some aids, but the energy transference we did indicated the scarring. I don't even think it caught everything. I only noted it, not studied. We were more focused on keeping him alive. Has he told you what happened when he fell?"

_Let go._

Thor bites on his lower lip and then lets it go. His father hated the habit. Said it made him look uncertain and childish. "You...think this is when it happened." He realizes out loud.

Eir nods. "It's too recent for anything else. Except maybe Nornheim."

Thor winces, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Still, though. Even as unpleasant as that memory is, Loki wasn't _tortured._ "That wouldn't fit. Loki was _fine." _He protests.

The older woman gives him a knowing look. It makes Thor feel both chastised and embarrassed at once. "What happened in the Void to him has to be the cause of the collapse. He was so drained I don't think…" Eir sighs, "I already told you that I don't think his odds are good. If I may speak freely my king, I don't know if he will ever wake up."

Exhale. Keep standing. Blink.

Thor gapes at her. His breath stutters. All his muscles coil and his fists curl, touching against his stomach. "You…" his voice is hardly above a strangled wheeze. He looks towards his brother, but can't hold the stare for very long before he drags it away like a coward. That is his brother and he can't even…"But he's breathing."

He nearly slaps his forehead.

He knows medicine.

Just because a patient is breathing doesn't mean they're _okay._

"Doesn't matter if up here's inactive." Eir taps her forehead. "It's too early to say for certain. A few weeks should help us come to a proper conclusion. I already told you I want you to keep a rotation on him at all times. I'll chip in where I can, but until he wakes up, we _need _to monitor."

He wants to ask if Loki will be okay, but he already knows the answer to that.

He wants to ask how bad the scarring is, but for Eir to have brought it up, he knows the answer to _that _too.

He wants to ask if she knew Loki was Jotun for how often she treated him, but he doesn't _want _to know.

All he does is stand there and try not to panic, cry, or vomit. Eir rests a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. Her fingers are warm. Loki's skin is cold. Brunnhilde's arm. Did someone check on it after Hela…

_Hela._

"If you'll excuse me," Thor murmurs and pulls away from her. He doesn't look at Loki's—_not Loki's—_face when he passes and steps into the washroom, sagging against the door behind him when it closes. A ragged noise leaves his lips and he slaps a hand over his lips to muffle it. A stream of curse words is spitting through his head rapidly, and he knows his mother wouldn't be impressed.

He sinks down to his knees. He's spent too much time in here lately. First with the mirror, and then the poor conversation with Hela about the dreams. Memories. Right. Because she knew him as a child. (And that meant _nothing _to her. What is it about him that makes everyone in his life either abandon him or try to kill him?)

He buries his head into his hands.

Loki could be dead. Loki is Jotun. Loki might never use magic again. Loki was tortured recently. Hela knew him as a child. Hela is younger than Brunnhilde. Hela tore out his eye. Hela was attacked by the Valkyrie. No one knows where she is.

Thor is going to combust. And it's going to be loud and ugly.

000o000

"—But she's a big friendly puppy. You have to let me at _least_ touch her!" he begs desperately, scrambling up to his feet and grabbing at her leg to look up at her pleadingly. She sighs and looks down at him from half lidded, shaded eyes.

"She's a wild animal. Not a pet." She says flatly.

He makes a noise. "She's _your_ friend."

She makes an irritated sound and flicks up the book, muttering a word that would make Amma clean her mouth out real good if she was present. "Do you _want _me to finish this Norns cursed thing?"

He smiles, nodding. He hasn't seen her in forever. She was gone for so long that he knows she'll be alright if they don't finish it. She sought him out, not the other way around. "Please! I gotist...gotta...gots…um."

"_Got?"_

He nods. "Got un-focused. The big monster reminded me of Fenris." He scrambles up onto her lap and settles himself there, ignoring her obvious distaste and quiet protests. He knows she's not really cross with him because the edge of her lip is quirking.

She sighs dramatically and adjusts her hold on their tiny sleeping brother, making sure he's not going to topple out of her arms before she begins the story again. She's only made it a scarce few sentences before the door is thrown open and Abee shoves his way into the space.

"Daughter!" he shouts.

She stiffens, hands tight around the storybook. He buries his head into her chest, trying to hide. Her arm suddenly comes to touch at his back—it feels funny, like bone—and the book lowers.

"My king." She says stiffly. "Has Frigga not returned from Alfheim yet?"

"No." Abee snarls, storming up to them and pointing his staff out. He stifles a cry, burying himself deeper against her. She is safe. Her hand is digging into his back now. "_You_ said you would not speak to the prisoners. _You gave your word, _and yet, I was told by the Einherjar that you've seen to them. _Twice!_ We did not drag them back from Midgard so you would shower them in _flowers._"

"_Flowers_? Oh, my king, I don't think you—"

"Until Frigga returns, there will be no more communication. You have made enough messes as it is!" Abee says angrily.

She hisses through her teeth. "_You—"_

"I would think that _you _of all people would understand this given that Laufey—What is this?" The book is torn from her hands abruptly and Abee looks it over with a critical eye. She makes a small noise, but doesn't grab for it with her arms occupied. Abee huffs, flipping it over to read the cover. "Don't you think he's a little old to be hearing such tales?"

"I don't." She replies smoothly.

"Why are you reading this to him? It's for children."

"He _is _a child."

"He will never be a proper warrior if you put these foolish stories in his head." Abee argues. She's on her feet suddenly, putting him on the ground with a gentleness that assures him he's not forgotten, but she won't put him in the way.

"A warrior? _You swore _Jotunheim was the last one. I'm not letting you take my soldiers out there again. You nearly got the Valkyries killed."

"It was a necessary loss."

"What about the Berserkers?" She snaps, voice hot. "Were they a calculated loss, too?" A gasp and then a strangled noise. He looks up, clutching her leg tighter, trying to hide.

Abee has her free hand's forearm clutched in a death grip, digging his hands into the ouches she's had ever since Abee took her away for a little while before the battle. Before she went away for a long time and didn't come back. The scars are bad. Abee said she got into a bit of a brawl. He doesn't want to know who she fought. She's indestructible.

"You have no right to fight me, or my judgement on this. You are still young and foolish." Abee snarls, twisting the grip. Her breath hitches as their brother droops slightly, as if she's going to drop him. "You would be nothing if I hadn't done what had to be. We have no idea the threats of the future. He will be even stronger than even I."

She smooths her expression. Hesitates and then, "Not much of an achievement, is it?"

Abee growls and he makes a squeak, rushing to clutch at Abee's leg. "Abee, please don't be cross with her." He pleads. "No more of the hurts."

"Back away, this doesn't concern you, boy."

"Thor," her voice is even, "come here. Get out of the way. You can't—"

Fingers snap infront of his face and Thor jerks, snapping awake. His head feels fuzzy, thoughts distorted and unconnecting. He blinks several times, trying to ground himself from the memories. He hadn't even been thinking about them. They just slunk into his head at an inopportune moment and settled there, insisting he watch. He'd been trying to sleep. Instead he…

It's been happening more frequently as of late.

He jerks up, realizing he fell asleep on the bathroom tile. His joints feel stiff and a low headache is thrumming at the base of his skull. He bites back a moan of discomfort and looks up, spotting his sister squatting in front of him. Her hair is hanging loose around her face, a few scarce bandages wrapped around her fingers. He thinks he sees one beneath the sleeve of her left hand.

Loki. Jotun. Burning. Hela carried him from here to the communal room. It must have done damage he didn't notice.

His sister is eyeing him critically. He swallows along his dry throat. "How long…?"

"Seven hours." Hela answers. Toneless. _Careless. _What he would _give _to be able to share on that apathy. It must hurt so much less, even if it's a lonely way to live. _But so much less painful._ "I only arrived half an hour ago. Eir briefed me."

"Loki?"

"Unchanged." Hela offers out a hand to him. "You look terrible. Come on, you should sleep somewhere that isn't the floor."

Thor doesn't take it. He just stares at her palm, her face. Her hair. _Her._

_You know _nothing _about her._

Hela's hand drops. "What? Have I done something _new _to offend you?"

"Tell me about Laufey." He says. She stiffens, eyes blowing wide. He rubs the grime away from his own, uncomfortable when he realizes how swollen it feels. He panicked well into two hours before exhausting himself into sleep. He doubts he'd be worthy of any photos. "I...Brunnhilde mentioned yesterday that you…" He doesn't even know how to _phrase _it.

Hela's jaw tightens. "Tell me something first. Was he Loki's father?"

A lump settles in his throat. He looks away from her, the words unbearably _hot _as they slip out. "He was. Laufey abandoned Loki. Loki was and _is _Odin's son. Blood means nothing. Loki is not related to that monster."

And yet, the ridges on his face tell a different story. The pattern of his hands…Loki's true parentage is easy for anyone to gauge now. Thor doesn't want to stomach this. He's going to be sick again. Why can't he just...why can't he _accept _this as it is? He knows Loki. It shouldn't matter where he came from, but it _does._

Laufey was a monster. Loki can't have descended from that. Hela can't have _saved _that. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he looks up at Hela with wide eyes. "Laufey wasn't your lover, was he?"

Hela's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into her hairline. She makes a choked noise like the thought both disgusts and horrified her. "_What? _No." Hela hisses. "How could you even—Laufey wasn't my _lover. _He saved me. He was more of a father to me than Odin ever was."

Thor blinks. His brain has stuttered and stopped, like an engine choking for it's last breath. Perhaps an internet tab unable to open, the pixelated screen reading the words _sorry, this webpage isn't available, check back later _no matter how many times you refresh.

Laufey...as a father.

The word doesn't sound right, even in his head. He thinks of Loki's despair over learning his parentage, thinks of his own _disgust _at learning of Loki's adoption. Thinks of his nursemaids telling stories of the Frost Giants coming to eat them in the night before they slept. Of _everything _Asgard told him of Frost Giants and he can't...he doesn't _understand._

Hela closes her eyes, releasing a stiff breath. It's obvious that she hadn't meant to say that out loud. She gives a little shake of her head. "We're not talking about this."

"We _have _to." Thor strangles. "You can't just say something like that and _not _explain!"

Hela rises to her feet smoothly. "Watch me." She turns to exit, and Thor scrambles up after her, but his protesting means nothing. She doesn't say another word to him for the better part of two hours, and he gives up.

He glances at Loki once more before exiting the room and stepping out into the hall. The walls don't feel like they're closing in here, the air easier to breathe for some reason. He turns left and works his way down the space, attempting to _go._

He doesn't want to talk to Hela.

He doesn't want to look at Loki.

He wants it all to _stop, _but he doesn't get that option. It's selfish, and he can't be that. He's better now. A hero. A _good man. _But he rarely plays the part of it, doesn't he?

Thor thrusts himself into work, and does his best not to _think. _He doesn't answer his people's questions. He doesn't talk to Brunnhilde when she tries to get his attention. He ignores the council and waves of Bruce's worrying. He pulls a mask forward and lets it play him for the remainder of the day. He doesn't want to think about what Hela said. About what Eir said. He doesn't...he can't...he can't _handle _this. He wants to scream, but he won't. _Can't. _His head might as well be underwater, and he's only making gurgling noises.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Let's be positive and say before Christmas. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Happy 25th of December, my stars! =D You're all amazing! Thank you so much for your comments. They'll all been so wonderful, I love being excited with things with other people. Really, though, you guys are awesome. I hope you know that, and if you don't, know that I know that. :) I'm so terribly sorry for being so awful with responding to reviews lately. #Stress #Mental illness #life. This chapter, I promise, I'll get 'em all if I can. :) 
> 
> Thank you again! Happy holidays! =D
> 
> Warnings: Child abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, some gore, some violence.

* * *

_"_ _But we cannot simply sit here and stare at our wounds forever."_

_-_Unknown

* * *

And it's here. Here in the snow, the bitter chill digging into every part of exposed skin that she realizes she hates this man she's kneeling for. His gnarled old limbs seem to tower above her, his narrowed eyes and bloodstained face an ugly, savage sight to behold.

Laufey took that eye. She knows that, and feels no sorrow for the loss. She hopes that the lack of some of his vision will cause him to stumble off of something and _die._

Her knees dig into the bloodstained snow, and her jaw is tight. Her arm twitches, spasmsing, but she pays it no mind, staring up into the empty eye of the man she has called father since she could talk.

"You have disappointed me." He says flatly.

It is the first time they have spoken in nearly a decade. Laufey told him nothing. For all he could have been aware, she could have been another mutilated corpse among so many others. She could have been beyond his idea of rescue. (His slaughter.) Her breath still hitches up inside her, a passionate hatred burning inside her stomach. It _hurts. _It hurts so much she fears her ribs will be seared.

Her mind flashes back to that day, so many, _many _years ago when Odin found her after her mother's slaughter. When Odin had ran to her and swept her into his arms, weeping with his relief. When he had not stared at her like she had offended him, when the _only reason _she was _here _in the first place was because of _him._

Laufey would have had no way to capture her if _he hadn't-_

"What would you have me say, my lord?" her voice is hardly above a croak. She is exhausted. She thinks if she tries to yell like she _wants, _she'll only cry.

"I would have you reassure me that you will do better." Odin snarls. "Have you any idea what worry you have caused your mother? Or your brother?"

_But not you. _That goes unspoken, but it's still there. It's still very much there. It aches inside her like a physical wound, something dark and heavy, digging at her back and making her sick. Hela's eyes narrow, a heated breath escaping her nose.

"I don't care." She growls. "I hoped they would be _rotting _by now."

Dead and not to return.

The thought of Thor's bright-too bright, _always too bright-_continence and Frigga's calm, collected persona makes her want to be ill. The way that they all pretend they're family when Frigga wants nothing more than to take Thor and run back to Vanahiem-to her family, Her _real _family. Not the one she was yanked into because she was the war bride-and _she _wants to murder this man while he sleeps. Or as he's awake. She has no preference now.

She wants _nothing _to do with the realm that abandoned her for nearly a decade.

They did not even send a rescue party. And why would they? _She is the monster under the bed. _And a part of her is pleased by this.

"You would _dare-" _her father starts, snapping forward a step. She recoils from his anger by habit, her body knowing to many wounds inflicted by his hand. She knows better than to trust him. Than to see him as anything other than something that brings _hurt. _"You would _dare _to insult Thor and Frigga that way? To wish them _dead?" _

He wants her to shout. He wants to get a rise out of her. For her to start screaming so he has a reason to strike out with his anger. So quick to anger. So quick to slip into the darkness like he's never tasted light.

She won't give him that satisfaction. She tips her head up a little, chin jutted. "Yes. I would. And when we get back to Asgard, I will kill them myself and make you _watch."_

Because, the Norns know it, she is so tired of being his ugly little, broken doll. If her capture has done one thing, it has at last freed her.

Odin hits her. Gungnir slices her face open, causing blood to pool out onto the snow. The bitter wind of Jotunheim washes over them, but Hela's blood is hot with rage. There is no escape from it as it reaches up in an attempt to choke her. She thinks that she will be sick with it, and finds that it is better fuel than she has ever had before.

This is not love.

This has never been love.

She wanted so desperately for this man's attention. For his praise. For him to, _for once, _call her a worthy daughter instead of a disappointment. For him to stop making _her _do all the dirty work. He raised her as a weapon, and that is what she became. And weapons do not know remorse.

Hela draws an axe and jerks to her feet, throwing it towards his head. He dodges, but he's distracted, which was exactly her desire because now he's open. She draws her swords and advances, leaping towards his frail frame with the intent to kill. She can already see how is blood will pool around his body, how he will look up at her in resigned surprise. His last words will not be prophetic. They will not be wise. She will be the one to hear them, because she is going to _kill _this wretched lying snake with her bare hands.

Their weapons clash.

Hela brings up a dagger and twists her wrist, sending it pummeling into Odin's side. Odin roars with anger and kicks her away, hissing a heavy curse. Hela smirks and goes in for another attack.

Their blood stains the white snow a sickly pink-red.

She does not win this fight.

000o000

It's been more than a fortnight. (_Three weeks, one day, some hours.)_

Loki has been unconscious without ceasing, without any sign of waking, for twenty-two days. _T__wenty-two. _This is not some sort of simple brush off the shoulder and everything will be fine eventually. This is an indication of just how bad things got beneath their noses, and how Thor was blind to happening.

He knew Loki was unwell, but that didn't stop this whole mess from brewing anyway. If he had pointed it out sooner, tried to get Loki to see Eir...would his younger brother be in a coma without any sign of waking in the future? Would Loki's deep blue face be looking back at him, with the incision marks of Laufey's family line? What would have happened if he had pushed a little harder? If he hadn't been too late, as he is often prone to with his sibling?

(Too late to stop him from slipping into madness.

Too late to stop him from turning the Bifrost on Jotunheim.

Too late to stop him from letting go.)

Things have not gotten much better. Hela is still refusing to speak with him. Brunnhilde is avoiding him like he carries a plague, but avoiding everyone else like they're carriers of the same plague, people are wary of Bruce, and everyone won't stop asking about his brother.

It's not-not _often-_questions regarding his health. They want confirmation. Confirmation that the story Odin told them-_Loki _told them-after the Aether incident is true. That Loki really is the son of their long-hated enemy. Thor can't lie about it anymore. He can't beat around the bush and not expect something to bite his foot.

He has to say yes.

He has to _keep _saying yes. Answer their questions, but avoid anything personal for Loki's sake. (And his own.) He doesn't know what to do. Eir says there has been no change. Loki is not getting worse, but he's not getting better. He's stagnant. And he _reeks _of power. Eir said that it was his magic leeching onto anything nearby, but it's more than that.

It's like Loki is carrying another source of energy on him. Thor's good at sensing energy, but that's beside the point. The point is…

Thor is just as lost now as he was six years ago, in a small bar in the middle of New Mexico, admitting that he _didn't know _for one of the first times in his life to Dr. Selvig.

"I can tell you have been here for some time." Thor startles at the voice, twisting around to look back at Heimdall when he enters the empty room. The gatekeeper lingers near the doorway for a moment, as if giving Thor the chance to collect himself, and enters the not-exactly-throne-room. The lights are dimmed. It's an attempt to feign sunset and sundown, but they all know it's a facade, so it's prone to not working.

Thor digs his nails into his palms, but lets his head drop back against the wall. He's leaning on it heavily, feet tucked up to his chest as he gazes out at the stars. Heimdall sits down next to him, settling in like he doesn't have a care in the world. His amber eyes linger on Thor. Watching. Waiting.

Thor sighs heavily. "What would you have me say to that?"

"I would have you speak." Heimdall answers, the faintest edge of humor on his tone when he adds, "There are those who have admitted to me they fear you have taken a vow of silence to the Norns in an attempt to save Loki's soul."

Thor snorts, burying his head into his hands. "He lost it six years ago. There's not much I can do. Prayers for it now would be meaningless."

_Twenty-two. Days._

He means it as a joke, but he still feels when Heimdall's piercing stare loses some of its humorous edge. He's said something wrong. Again. The gatekeeper is quiet for a few long minutes before saying, "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Thor bites, pulling his gaze from the stars for the briefest moment to glance at the older Asgardian. The lack of the familiar twinkling hues causes anxiety to flare in his stomach again. Burning up his chest. He bites on his tongue, but refuses to admit to himself or anyone else that looking at the stares reminded him of Jane, and the memory of her calmed him.

"Tell me what you are thinking." Heimdall says. "You have not been yourself these last few weeks. You have been lost to your thoughts. I would have you share them. They way heavily on you."

He doesn't even know where to _start. _Thor blows out a heavy breath and shakes his head. "I have little to say."

"And yet, you sit here. Thinking about all you _want _to." Heimdall points out.

_Norns._

Heimdall knows him too well to believe Thor's lies. It's as aggravating as it is a relief. Thor closes his eye and forces the stiff words off of his lips. It's just him and Heimdall. He trusts this man with the very depths of his soul. Things he could never admit to his parents or his brother have been uttered aloud to the gatekeeper. He starts with the first thing that comes to mind. "My brother is the son of Laufey. He is Jotun. He is...he has...I don't understand. I don't...ugh!"

"You are struggling to accept this." Heimdall says, toneless.

"How can I _not _be?" Thor seethes. "I have had a _milliena _to believe them savage, wild beasts, and _no one corrected me. _When I told my father I would slaughter them all, he only _smiled _and took my hand. He didn't tell me that genocide was not the solution. He didn't-and Mother was no better. Loki told her about the dreams he had after our nursemaids would frighten us to bed with their stories of the Frost Giants coming to eat us. She would only laugh and say that it was just a dream. She never corrected either of us in assuming they were monsters. And Loki used them to stop my coronation because, before I was banished, both of us considered them to be _things. _What would be the harm using them for the kill if they were no more than a thing? _Why did no one stop me!? _My heart sees my brother lying there, but my head sees my enemy, and I am so tired of being torn between the two of them."

Heimdall is quiet.

Thor releases a ragged breath. He could keep going for a lot longer, he thinks. He has had plenty of time to draw up frustrations in the last three weeks. Maybe that's why he tipped so easily when Heimdall asked him. He was so tired of bottling it. Someone asked, and then he just...broke. "And Hela is refusing to answer my questions. She isn't even speaking to me. It's like we're children, and I said something to offend her, but I didn't. Not really. I don't know. You know that Loki often plays the mediator between us, right?"

"Yes."

"And that I play it between her and him. I swear that all of us are this close to strangling each other on a day to day basis." Thor lifts up his fingers, pointer and thumb smooshed together. "And I'm so tired of it. I'm tired of everything. I want to rest, but there's nothing _there. _I can't keep...I can't keep going like this, and it's selfish because I-" Thor breaks and looks away, trying to gather himself.

Heimdall waits.

Thor sighs and buries his head into his hands. None of this is really bothering him, though. Well. It is. It's _there, _but it's superficial. Like the dust that has to be blown away before the cover of a book can be read. He doesn't even know what it is that's making him so nauseous. That's making him avoid everyone in an attempt to _think._

He has had days upon days to think about this. To process it. But still…

When he's breathing a little easier, he turns to the gatekeeper. "Did you know? About her? My sister? Could you see her?"

The gatekeeper pauses. His gaze flicks away from Thor for the first time since this conversation began as if he is uncomfortable. When he speaks, his tone is as even as ever, but there is a slight tightness to his eyes. "I knew of her. I did not know of her identity. She was not prone to talking when I looked upon her. I did not challenge your father's judgement."

No one ever did.

That's how they got to this point, though, isn't it? All of them wanted so badly for Odin to be the hero that they ignored the villain sitting amid them, pretending to know what the light felt like. And it _hurts, _so terribly, to realize that his father is the source of so much pain. It hurts that Thor's _father _has not always been the hero Thor believed him to be because he just-

_I'm not as strong as you._

_No. You're stronger._

_-_Odin was supposed to be _good. _And if Odin wasn't...is Thor? Does Thor even know what heroic _is, _having learned it from something close to a villain? How can he trust anything his father taught him, with the knowledge that it came at such a great cost for everyone else? He wants to believe that Odin changed, but he...doubts that.

It reminds him of when Tony would describe Howard. How the genius always spoke about him with an air of detachment, claiming him on multiple occasions to have been in cahoots with the devil. Thor remembers being horrified by that and asking, "_How could you say that about your father?" _and Tony looking him in the eye and saying, "_I think you're imagining a father-son relationship. I didn't have one. My father was too busy playing search-and-rescue."_

But Laufey, their enemy, was a better father to Hela that Odin ever was.

Because Odin raised a weapon. Not a daughter. And Thor can't...he doesn't _understand. _He just-he can't. He _can't. _He has no idea how to process this, or even a _way _to. How is he supposed to accept that Odin-_how does he even know that Hela is telling the truth._

...But has she ever lied to him?

She's only poured out truth. Painful truth. But _truth. _He can't fight against the truth, even as much as that would be nice. She's never stopped tipping information out against Odin. She never stops. She just-

He wishes he could _ask _someone else that wasn't Brunnhilde or Hela about the whole mess of pre-memory wipe, but he's certain that everyone else is like him: they _have _the memories, but putting them into chronological order is almost impossible without a history book.

Thor bites sharply on his cheek. He glances up at the gatekeeper. "Heimdall...Heimdall, what do you remember about her? From before? I was so young that most everything doesn't make sense. I don't...I remember Mother far more than I do her or Father. What were they doing to be so exempt from the early stages of my life?"

Heimdall hums thoughtfully. "Your father removing your memories bothers you?"

Thor flinches.

"Does it not _you? _Why couldn't have just banished Hela and be done with it all? Was her crime _so _great that he had to _wipe her from existence? _It seems...it just seems a little cruel. He banished her. He banished me. He didn't pull me from everyone's heads."

"Your banishment was never meant to be permanent, my king." Heimdall points out.

Thor jerks up to his feet, unable to stay still with the restless energy pouncing through him like a wild cat. He begins to pace, fingers clenching. He can feel lightning buzzing at the tips and taste the ozone in the air. He tries to calm his agitation. He doesn't really succeed.

"So why was _hers?" _Thor bites back. "He let me learn. He let me redeem myself. I _broke _a peace treaty. I slaughtered more than four dozen Jotuns without reason and then tried to _goad my father into helping us. _Why was _I _given a chance at redemption and not her? Not Loki? _Why is it always me!?_"

_He told you you were worthy. He said the same to me._

Thor releases a seething breath, resisting the urge to kick something. It's childish, and he's beyond that now. He's supposed to be.

Heimdall remains quiet for nearly a minute before saying, softly, "I think it is past time you accept the fact that your father favored you. I do not know all the reasons why he did, but I saw many instances where he-"

A bitter sort of bubbling laugh escapes him before he can stop it. Heimdall stops, expression flickering with something that looks like confusion. Thor squeezes his eye shut and shakes his head. "I don't know if Odin knew how to favor anyone."

"...What are you talking about?" Heimdall says softly. Thor bites his tongue. He shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. I know I was spoiled." Thor grounds the words out, even though he feels like choking on them. "But that wasn't _my _choice, so why does everyone blame me for that?"

"Thor."

"I mean. Honestly. Loki gets so _angry _about something that was far out of both of our control, and he _had _Mother's adoring. They were close. Mother and I were never-"

"_Thor."_

"-that close. I wonder...I wonder if she knew about Hela. If Odin _could _have cleansed her memory on her. Were she and Hela close? They must have known each other if Hela helped me learn how to walk, but-"

"_Stop." _Heimdall's voice has raised a pinch, and Thor flinches back from it. Heimdall has gotten to his feet. He's towering over him, and Thor feels like a small child, hiding inside of Hela's skirts from Odin's wrath again. Heimdall reaches out and grips his shoulders. The sensation is weird, but not uncomfortable.

Heimdall has not touched him often. Which is what was so disorienting about the dream that the Maximoff witch gave him. Heimdall kept shaking him. His fingers digging into Thor's upper arms hard enough to cause bruising.

Heimdall's amber eyes are narrowed. Thor wants to look away from them, but finds he _can't. _"I did not mean for you take it like that. And I need you to answer me a question. Odin asked me not to look upon you without his request or you calling for my name. I was not always watching your family."

A heavy weight settles in his stomach.

"Answer me this," Heimdall says quietly, "did Odin ever hit you?"

Thor looks away. He denies it quickly, but the words fumble off his tongue and seem flat. Hopeless. He grinds his jaw and tries not to look at Heimdall's face. It was not often. It did not happen unless Thor went out of line beyond previously set boundaries wildly. Odin did not do it as often to him as he did Loki. But these very _thoughts _feel sinful. A disrespect to Odin's memory. Odin was the Allfather. He was supposed to be the peak of parenting. The ultimate father. He...wasn't.

Odin was never there when Thor needed him to be. Always so _expectant. _Thor felt like he was drowning in the spotlight, and has wondered furiously since Loki fell how it must have felt to be starving for any light at all. To have _never _gained Odin's attention unless it was _bad _attention because Loki could not get Odin's eye to swivel towards him otherwise.

Thor doesn't answer Heimdall's question.

But the silence says enough.

He and the gatekeeper already know the answer.

000o000

Thor plops down next to Brunnhilde, purposefully invading what little space she did have from the other Asgardians and breaks open a ration pack. The Valkyrie eyes him with annoyance, scowling at the side of his head and pointedly scooting away from him what she can.

"Was that necessary?" the Valkyrie questions. "I'm not above stabbing you."

"Yes, you are." Thor counters and shakes out some of the contents onto his hand. "You would have already impaled me long before now." He offers her one of the dried-fruit-looking-things and Brunnhilde takes it with attitude, popping it into her mouth.

When she's swallowed, she tips her head towards him, carefully stretching out in the little space they have. "What do you want?"

"Who said I want something?" Thor counters.

Brunnhilde's eyebrow raises. "You only talk to me when you want something."

"That's not true." Thor argues. He releases a breath and shakes his head. It's _not. _He wouldn't have known nearly as much about her as he does-because _that's_ so much?-if he only demanded things of her.

"Alright. It's not." Brunnhilde agrees, "But what do you want?"

Thor sighs, his shoulders slumping. Apparently, he is _still _wearing his heart on his sleeve. "To talk."

"About?"

"Pre-" Thor stops, glancing at the Asgardians who are obviously listening to their conversation. This is probably the one downside of tracking Brunnhilde down here. He couldn't find her anywhere else, but she _has _to eat at some point, right? "-Perspiration." Thor corrects himself mid-word, which makes it come off as funny, twisting in his mouth.

Brunnhilde's eyebrows shoot up on her forehead, obviously confused before she sees the same thing he does and sighs grumpily. "Of course. I forgot. That's a delicate topic, needing to be discussed elsewhere, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose?" Thor agrees.

Brunnhilde gets up to her feet and yanks him to his, leading him out of the common room, towards the hall. The Aesirs' eyes follow them the whole way.

When they're outside the doors, Brunnhilde turns him. "What is the problem? Is it Lackey?" Thor shakes his head, biting on his lip. Loki is still just as cadaverous and unconscious as he was before. Part of Thor doesn't think...he shakes of the thought, feeling slightly ill by it. Brunnhilde's expression flattens. "Our resident stab-happy princess?"

Thor makes a face at the title, but Brunnhilde doesn't seem phased by it. The worst part is, she isn't exactly _wrong._

"It does have to do with her." He admits. The Valkyrie waits for him to continue. "I don't understand...you said that I know nothing about her, but you must know _something. _I need to know what happened before she was banished. I need to know _why _my father didn't let her ever come back. What she did that caused my father to wipe her memory from everyone but you."

Brunnhilde's posture goes rigid. Her jaw sets. She looks away from him for a moment and then settles her gaze back on his face. "It isn't really my story to tell. What? She's not being a plethora of information?"

"She's barely said a few sentences to me since I asked." Thor admits.

"Big surprise." Brunnhilde snips sarcastically. "She's always had such delightful social skills." A shake of her head and then, "I don't know how much help I'm going to be. If you want gritty details, you'd need to ask someone who was there."

Thor squeezes his eye with frustration. "You weren't?"

"Not inside, no. I was in the training grounds when Odin called for aid. By the time I got there, she was blood soaked and subdued with a trail of bodies to follow back to the origin of the mess. Odin didn't hold a trial-" he didn't hold one for _any _of them "-and banished her on the spot. I didn't see her again until…" Brunnhilde trails. "Until she slaughtered the Valkyries. Wasn't exactly my nature to go asking about her. We weren't friends."

"But-wait." Thor stops. "You still _knew _her? Odin didn't wipe her from everyone's heads right then?"

Brunnhilde shakes her head. "No. It was probably after the massacre on Helheim. I don't know. I wasn't there. I told you. You'd need to ask someone with inside information."

"But no one remembers!" Thor throws up his hands. "And if they _do, _it's not accurate information. Or it's a jumbled mess. No one can remember it correctly, and how am I ever supposed to understand if Hela won't talk to me?"

"You think that weaseling the information off of everyone else isn't going to leave her furious?" Brunnhilde asks. "If you're hoping to maintain a somewhat truce with her, I wouldn't go digging into her personal life without permission."

Thor grinds his teeth. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But he still. He just wants to know and avoid trying to talk with her again. Obtaining personal information from her is like trying to wring water from bricks.

Brunnhilde sighs, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Look. I know that you're struggling to come to terms with everything-" has it _really _been so obvious that Heimdall and Brunnhilde noticed? Has everyone, but they're too polite to point it out? "-but this isn't the way to handle it."

Then _what is?_

What _is _the proper way? Will someone _tell _him that so he can do it and be done with this all?

000o000

"Fight me."

Hela stops. She looks up from the knife she's sharpening to him, expression flaring with surprise and something close to confusion. Thor refuses to look to where their brother is lying a few feet from her, his limbs lax and chest a rhythm of automated breath falling and rising. They took Loki off of something breathing _for _him a few days ago, but Loki's entire body seems to have forgotten a normal rhythm.

Thor hates seeing his dead features staring up at nothing. How the frost has touched the ends of his dark hair and how _limp _Loki looks. People wouldn't be surprised if Thor told them that Loki was a corpse.

"I beg your pardon?" Hela questions, hands dropping into her lap. "Not that I'm exactly _opposed, _but…the point?"

She speaks.

A miracle.

Thor grips the hilt of his sword, drawing it. He takes the weapon into both hands. "Not to the death. Not over power. We need to talk. At least this way we can hit each other when we get angry."

Hela's expression shifts into something unreadable for a moment. She seems to weigh the suggestion before sighing and grabbing the dagger, setting it down next to Loki's lax face. That's one of Loki's daggers, Thor realizes. She was sharpening Loki's daggers? Where did she even _get _one? He knows that Loki keeps two physically with him at all times, but the others are in a cache...that must be one of the non-cached.

It hadn't even occurred to Thor to wonder where those went after Eir starting caring for his sibling, but Hela must have grabbed them for safekeeping.

Hela gets to her feet and ties back her hair, flicking out her hands to draw two short swords. The memory of her advancing on them in the field after Mjonlir's destruction comes to mind, but he shakes it off and lifts up his sword.

Now is not the place to reminisce.

"What is it that you want to discuss so badly?" Hela asks conversationally, but Thor can tell that she's studying him. Attempting to pre-determine weakness, even though they've fought before.

_To be honest, I expected more._

"We need to talk about Laufey." Thor says, and Hela's expression seizes. She tenses, and for a moment Thor fears that his plan to wiggle the information from her will fail, but her eyes narrow. Anger. Anger is so much easier to get her to talk. He needs to keep her angry, but not angry enough to actually kill him. Loki was honest with him in the Observatory because he was angry.

Anger is so much easier to work with.

_Keep the anger here._

"What?" Thor challenges, goading, even though he knows it's stupid. "What is it that you're trying to keep hidden about him? Did he sing you a bedtime story? Wipe away your tears? Help you tie your shoe laces?"

Hela's body tenses. Thor braces himself for the defensive.

"For someone so fond of talking, you really don't do much monologuing." Thor pushes.

Hela sneers at him. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."

_Folsbannger._

"Oh?" Thor keeps his tone light. Tries to keep the unease away. Hela won't attack first, she's tense like a coiled cat, but she's just _standing _there. Thor's patience grinds before he spins his blade and jumps onto the coffee table, using it to propel himself at her. Hela doesn't roll out of the way, but takes the full force of his blade with one of her own.

The weapons clash together loudly.

Hela's teeth are gritted, "Darling, this is only going to work as an interrogation if you know what you're doing."

"I never said it was an interrogation." Thor hisses. Hela shoves back, causing him to stumble backward a few steps. He sidesteps a swing from one of her swords, swiping for her chest.

"Isn't it?"

"It's a quid pro quo." He corrects, taking his sword into his left hand with a knife pick grip and swiping for her knees. Hela jumps the weapon, flinging a dagger towards his face. Thor catches it by the hilt and twists around to slice at her arm. He manages to nick the tip of her shoulder, but Hela is unfazed. "You answer some of my questions, and I'll answer yours."

"Who said I had any?"

"Your demeanor. I'm not stupid."

"Ask." Hela demands sharply, diving away from him when he nearly takes off a hand. She does a graceful handspring off of the coffee table, but quickly moves away from Loki's prone form before either of them can cause damage. It's an unspoken agreement: They will keep the fight away from the youngest.

"Why did you slaughter half the palace?" Thor demands, releasing a sharp noise when she cuts across his face to the tip of his cheek.

"Ooh. That looked like it hurt." She draws, pausing for a moment.

_Now you remind me of Dad._

Thor's teeth set and he grabs the dagger, still in his grip, and aims it for her leg. Hela barely manages to prevent a full impaling, but it nicks the side of her thigh. When they fought each other in the throne room, Thor didn't have access to a sword. Or an axe. Staffs have never been his weapon of choice, which is why he suspects he was losing so terribly. (They've always been Loki's. Loki, who could likely wield only a broom and use it to bash someone's skull in.) He is better prepared here. He's in his element. It's not Mjolnir, but it's close enough that he can pretend.

"Answer." Thor demands, wiping blood away with the back of his hand.

Hela makes an annoyed sound, shoving off against the coffee table for better ground. Thor blocks the blow, but it's heavy and causes his muscles to shake beneath the pressure. "How much do you know about the war between Midgard and Jotunheim?" Hela questions instead. Thor pauses. The question seems almost careful, and Thor fears that if he answers wrong she'll clamp up and refuse to discuss anything with him.

Thor shoves her back, grabbing at her right forearm pointedly and she makes a noise as he squeezes it. This is not a fight to the death, and maybe he's cheating by doing this, but he _needs _her to actually agree to talk. "Is this relevant?"

Hela summons a dagger, shoving it up towards stomach. He sees the weapon coming and jumps back to avoid it, releasing her in the process. "Unfortunately. I have no more desire to go over a history lesson than you do. So. Tell me."

"Enough I won't get confused." He promises, kicking the table out of the way when she tries to use it again. Hela recovers gracefully, but he takes the advantage for what little it's worth and grabs for her long hair and _yanks._

Hela's entire face tightens. "Did you ever wonder why Odin and Laufey hated each other so much?"

Thor pauses. "No."

Hela elbows him in the stomach, twisting around and pulling her hair from his grip with a sharp tug. She slices a dagger towards his fingers, but Thor jerks his wrist back, letting the vambrace take the brunt of the damage.

"Not once? Never occurred to you to think about it once?" his sister questions dryly, pulling back to breathe for a moment. She twists her weapon, eyeing him. Thor's lips press into a thin line.

"I _thought _about it, but Father always said that Laufey was the villain. I didn't _need _any more information. I was a child when he told me. After that, it just…"

"Not a very bright one, were you?"

Thor grabs a bottle from off of the desk and throws it at her. The glass shatters harmlessly behind her when Hela dodges. "I'm _not _stupid!" he seethes. "Why does everyone-?"

"It's me. My fault." Hela interrupts. "I'm the reason the peace treaty went so poorly. You know that the war went on for the better part of nine years, don't you? Or did you even ask questions when you received your education?"

_She's trying to get a rise from you. Calm down._

"_Yes."_

Hela's gaze flicks to the left for a moment, but they continue to circle each other like hungry wolves. "Good. What you _don't _know is that I was a war captive for the better part of seven of them."

Thor's jaw drops. "You _what-?"_

She pulls her gaze away from him. "Odin was losing the war. I had already refused to participate, and drew my soldiers out. He...was less than pleased. Midgard is the center of the Nine-"

"He who controls it controls a majority of the power of Yggdrasil and the easy trade routes." Thor recites, remembering something that his tutor once said. Midgard had always just been _Asgard's, _Thor had never thought twice about what would happen if they _lost _it.

Hela smirks, but it's tight. "Oh, look. He _does _listen when it suits him."

Thor dives in for another attack, smashing his weapon against hers. His blows are heavy and heated. He'll tire quickly, but powering through his causes her to stumble back as she's forced to switch to defensive.

She parts her thinned lips and continues, "Odin sent me to deal with a small group of the Jotnar. I didn't make it back. Awake one moment, nothing the next. Laufey found me. He and his wife nursed me back to health for the better part of six months. I was unresponsive during all of that."

Thor gawks. "For _half _a _year?"_

"It's called a coma now, I think." Hela smiles grimly. "Laufey could have left me to die out there. Odin's troops wouldn't have found me in time. He could have killed me in the following six years he held me as a war prisoner. He didn't. Instead he…" she looks away.

Thor swallows, unable to wrap his head around any of this.

It doesn't seem...it doesn't seem _possible. _Yes, his interactions with Laufey were limited, but he'd heard stories of the king's brutally for as long as he can remember. The Jotun _left Loki to die. _How could he ever have had the mercy to _save _his sister? Hela already told him that Laufey was more of a father than Odin ever was, but it _still…_

"Why were you unconscious?" Thor questions. Hela swipes at his throat, and Thor ducks out of the way, but not fast enough. With a sweep of her legs, she sends him tumbling towards his back.

"Not important for your question." Hela argues, summoning an axe and swinging it towards his head. Thor panics, rolling out of the way, but still feels it grind against the back of his chestplate.

But that doesn't mean it's not _pertinent._

"Yes, it is." Thor argues, rolling up to his feet. He ducks out of the way of Hela's blades, backing up. He dropped his sword when Hela threw him, but he needs to find another weapon. "Does it have something to do with your arm?"

A flinch.

That means yes.

"During my capture, Laufey, Fabruiti and I grew...close." Hela skirts around answering well, but Thor did not grow up with Loki as a brother and not learn _something _about conversation manipulation. _Tell them what they want to hear. _"Fabruiti told me when she was with Laufey's child."

Loki.

Thor's throat tightens.

"But Odin attacked the camp before she was to deliver, and took everyone as war prisoners. Finding me was a surprise. He'd assumed I was killed and had moved on." Hela's eyes grow tight with the memory. "We returned to the palace, and Odin sentenced everyone to death."

Thor dives, having managed to make a circle around the L-shaped couch. He dives for his sword and skitters out of the way of Hela's blades. Breathing hard, he jumps to his feet. "I didn't know that." He admits.

Hela tips her head. "Big surprise. You and Frigga were on Vanaheim. Hiding with her parents." Frigga. Hela calls her Frigga. Is that because they weren't close? Is it because she refuses to associate with her like she does Odin?

"And then?" Thor prompts, diving in and grabbing her wrist. He twists it, and her entire arm seems to spasm.

"I killed half the palace to get them out. I didn't care who stood in my way. I wounded Heimdall, stole Hofund and got most of them back to Jotunheim, but not a few of the soldiers. The Aesir slaughtered them as Odin dealt with me."

"You committed _treason-"_

"As if you would have done _any differently _for Loki!" Hela seethes, fighting against his strength forcefully. They tug back and forth. "For someone you cared for!"

Thor's stomach churns as he thinks of Jane. The treason. Odin's tired dismissal. Was that Loki? It's never occurred to Thor to wonder before, but it seems strange that his father would have let him off so _easily. _Odin praised him after nearly costing Asgard everything. In contrast to what happened on Jotunheim...that had to be Loki.

"You slaughtered hundreds." Thor breathes. "Do you feel no regret over that?"

Hela's face twists with open pain. "I have never enjoyed taking life. It became a necessity. I've moved past my actions. It was them or the Jotnar, and I...cast the die."

"You _murdered-"_

"I am _not _a hero, or the victim in this story. _Stop acting like I am!_" Hela seethes, stomping on his foot. Thor's toes cry out, but he ignores it in favor of taking a step back and tightening his grip. He'd...Thor pauses, realizing that he'd, if unintentionally, begun to _think _of her as that. Once he'd learned about the lies. About Odin's treatment...he'd…

"But your not the villain, either." Thor counters. His voice sounds almost desperate. He hates himself for it, but Valkyrie's words still _sting._

_You know _nothing _about her._

"I guess I'm somewhere in the middle then, aren't I?" Hela counters, eyes narrowed. "The gray. And what does that make me?" In a move that reminds him startlingly of Natasha, Hela swings her feet up and wraps them around his neck, yanking them both down to the floor. She rolls off of him, lifting a sword out to his throat before he can move.

Thor breathes out heavily, wiping blood away from his cheek. He stares up at Hela's pale face. Her haunted eyes and shadowed bones. The way she holds herself like she's hoping someone will take her seriously. He sees her. _Her. _Not the goddess of death she loves to throw at everyone and anyone. _That _is her armor. An entire set she wears for protection.

But _Hela?_

He sees the woman that forced him to sleep. That saved his life from the Fire Sweets water, that cared for his injuries after the creatures tried to eat him. The woman who wakes from nightmares more often than not, unable to sleep from horrors that Thor can't begin to imagine. The weapon Odin raised for his benefit. Hela's awkward nature when he clasps her on the shoulder or Loki forces her to eat something. She carries the nature of someone who doesn't know how to be loved, and it makes him ache.

He sees the broken, wild thing that Odin left to die.

And he sees the little girl that has built up walls of anger, murder, and hate in order to survive.

Thor clambers up to his feet slowly. Hela's weapon follows him, but he's pretty sure that both of them are aware the fight is over. Thor lost. Again. Even though neither of them was _really _trying. Hela's narrowed blue-gray eyes do not shift from his face. There's something earnest in them, as if looking for an answer to the question she can't decide on her own.

Thor's heart twists with sympathy.

"What _am _I if I'm not the villain?" Hela whispers. "If I'm not the monster everyone says I am? I'm not _good. _I'm not pure. I'm tainted, dark, and fanged. They wounded me, so I killed them all."

Thor watches her carefully. Silently.

"I know I do not deserve this chance at repentance. I'm not ignorant to that. But I don't think I'm ready to die." Hela's gaze snaps up to his face, her expression twisting into something nasty; ugly. "Will you _SAY SOMETHING!?"_

Thor pushes the tip of her blade away and throws himself towards her. He wraps her arms around her shoulders and holds her close. Hela stiffens beneath his touch, her entire body freezing like he's burned her. Her breath catches in her throat and he feels as her hands raise defensively before faltering.

He breathes out, taking in her scent. Metal. Leather. Blood.

"I already told you I don't believe anyone above redemption. I meant it. Your past...is...it _is. _There's nothing either one of us can do to change that. But you're still my sister. We're family. Odin can't change that with what he did." Thor says quietly. "We look forward from here."

They'll only choke on their shame of what came before if they don't.

Hela makes something that sounds like she's being choked. She doesn't pull away from him. She doesn't even fight. Thor takes this as a good sign and keeps her close. They don't speak. They don't fight. They don't even seem to _breathe._

This is what he'd wished he'd done when Loki kept insisting that they fight on the Bifrost. He wishes he hadn't been so ready for the fight. To draw blood. But he'd been so _angry _and he couldn't…

Hela leans into him, bit by slow bit, hesitantly resting her head on his shoulder. She doesn't embrace him back. She merely lets him hold her. He didn't expect anything more. Frankly, he's surprised that he got _this _far.

"I'm sorry," she whispers at length. Ragged. "I'm sorry."

"Shh." Thor soothes. He's not sure what she's apologizing for. It doesn't really matter. "Just breathe."

Thor doesn't let her go.

000o000

It's several hours later, during the middle of dinner, that Hela comes barging into his personal space, grabbing at his shoulder. She's gripping a sword and looking like she's being prodded between her shoulder-blades with a brand. Thor stops the discussion he was having with Lord Arkenson and Vili to turn and give her his full attention. She looks...is _angsty _the right word for that? He can't think of another that would fit.

"Thor." Her voice is pinched.

"Ah. Hela. Come to grace us with your presence at last?" Lord Arkenson questions sarcastically. "Three weeks and you've finally grown bored of watching your brother's hair grow?"

Hela scowls at the Aesir.

Lord Arkenson raises his hands. "I'm just _saying."_

"As if my presence would have been welcomed." Hela sneers, hand tightening around the weapon.

Thor moves, gripping her forearm before she decides the take off the man's head. "What is it?"

"Loki." Hela says flatly, turning her attention back to him. The tension seeps into her shoulders again, and Thor feels his own face blanch with despair. _What now? What has gone wrong now? _"He's awake."

"That's-" relief drops from his tone as he sees her face. "That's good. Why do you look like you've been told of someone's execution?"

"Loki's _gone_. No one can find him."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! =D (Or belated Christmas, because I am late, and this wholly depends on where you live.) 
> 
> Next chapter: Soon. Before the end of 2019, I hope. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas, two chapters in a week. All of you are going to hate me post this chapter. :) Thank you so much for your support, really. I wish I could give you more chapters more frequently in gratitude, but, *sigh*. Really though, you are so amazing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Warnings: implied/referenced torture, PTSD, very vague implied/referenced past self harm.

* * *

("_Thor!" _he weeps, clambering onto his older brother's bed and diving down next to him. Thor's blue eyes blearily blink open as he lands beside him on the mattress, but Loki doesn't stop. He moves forward and rapidly shakes his older brother. "Brother, please, _please—_I don't wanna die!"

Thor stares at him, confused, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You're not going to die." He says firmly. "Loki, what are you talking about?"

"_I don't wanna die!" _Loki wails, the high pitched whine of youth making his voice shrill. "Please don't let me die!"

Thor reaches up and attempts to grasp him by his small shoulders, likely to rattle him or pull him close, but his warm fingers pass through Loki's shoulders like he's a ghost. Loki gasps as the fragile matter holding him together is displaced.

"Thor!" Loki sobs. "Thor, please!" He tries to reach out, but his hand only goes through Thor's chest.

"Loki! Loki, I don't understand." Thor says and their eyes meet. Thor reaches out, trying to touch him, grab him, _anything, _but they can't make contact. Thor can't touch him. Loki cries harder. He's in pain and he knows that he's dying, but he's going to have to do it all alone because Thor can't help him.

_But Thor can fix everything._

"Thor!" Loki pleads.

Thor shakes his head, looking more desperate by the second. "Loki, there's nothing I can do. We need to call for Mother—" _wrong. There's something wrong with that. _

_Frigga is dead._

Loki is going to die, and there's nothing she can do to stop that. Not now. Not ever. Not—_)_

He is not going to survive. The damage is too extensive. Too _deep. _The claws have torn and yanked on everything and nothing as they passed through his body. _He is not going to survive. _He's certain of that, when he can focus long enough to think. To process. To _be._

Loki knows that he's not exactly...here. He exists in a type of placid fog. His thoughts do not matter within it. His body's state. If he is hungry or thirsty. Nothing matters but the fog. It clouds over his entire _existence _and dominates it with a firm hand.

("No, Loki.")

He feels his senses from thousands of miles away. When a finger traces through his hair. When a sedir foreign to his own attempts to mend the damage done. Water poured over his head. His body. How _wrong _everything feels. Too sharp. Too warm. Too loud. Too...too _everything._

People are talking, but he doesn't hear much of what they're saying. Who they're discussing. _What _they're speaking about. He recognizes most of the voices. Healers. Thor. Hela. Heimdall. Sometimes Brunnhilde or Banner.

But everything just...is.

Loki doesn't have to worry. He doesn't have to breathe if he so chooses. Everything is so exhausting and he doesn't want to leave the fog's embrace for as long as he lives.

The only thing he hears clearly is the constant _thump, thump, thump _of his heart. It's the only thing he can focus on. Sometimes it beats wrong; too fast or shallow, but it always returns to the rhythm it's been pounding since he was born.

He also knows that he is dying. He can feel his body slowing, growing weaker every day, and he knows that it is not going to repair itself in time. He is never going to wake up again. And he is at peace with that. He's come to be at peace with that overtime.

(_I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!)_

He knows that he has a few days at most. Perhaps a week if he's lucky. Erratic spasms of pain leave him here long enough to process that he is still alive. Within the fog, he has vivid dreams that feel like hallucinations or warped versions of reality. The closer he's drawn towards his death date, the more frantic they've become. They all revolve around the same topic: he is going to die, _but he doesn't want to._

He knows that distantly he is panicking; but he doesn't understand why.

He's wanted this for decades. The reasons have varied, but he doesn't...doesn't want…

_("We thought you dead."_

"_Did you mourn?"_

"_We all did."_

_I don't wanna die!)_

He knows that people are trying to get him to respond, but the thought of doing anything but exist in the fog makes him physically ill. He can't do it. Maybe _wants _to, but he is physically incapable. His limbs are heavy and the thought of talking makes him want to weep. He can't open his eyes. Can't even twitch a finger.

The smallest resistance against the fog causes his entire body to alight with pain so terrible he thinks he must be on fire. So he doesn't. He hides in the fog like a child afraid of the dark, and can do nothing when people scream at him not to give up. He can't battle against the fog. The fog is safe. It doesn't _hurt. _Here, he just _is. _There is no fear over his inevitable death. No pain. No guilt.

He also knows that he's been here for a long, _long _time; battling this limbo. He's already decided that he can't beat it. There's nothing to be done but wait for his heart to finally give out and be done with this whole thing.

He is dying. Maybe he's already dead. And it's not going to change. (_I don't wanna die!)_

Until it does, and he gets no say in the matter...he lets himself believe this until the Tesseract wakes him.

Whether it is a cruel irony from the higher powers, or some sort of fitting round circle, the Infinity Stone _shifts _inside his cache, and it sends a ripple effect across his entire mind. Body. Soul. It _screams _within his entire being, sending a fire searing through every available nerve and Loki cannot remain stagnant for any longer.

A soft voice whispers "_wake" _and he is weak in the face of its power.

He knows that he's been unconscious for a long time, the darkness that swept over his entire mind indicates as much, but he goes from a deep, yet restless sleep one moment to jerking up into a sitting position the next.

The blanket falls onto his lap, his hair—it's shorter, when did he cut it?—slides around his neck. His limbs are weak and his stomach leaps into his throat at the fist possible moment. Loki panics, vomit threatening to choke him. He manages to swallow the urge, _lessen it, _and coughs several times. It rattles through his exhausted lungs, and breathing in deeply only makes it worse.

The Tesseract.

What is he doing here? How did he get here? The last thing he remembers is Hela shouting at him—_defending Laufey—_and then...nothing. No. That's not quite right. He remembers the vague feeling of hands touching him. Being wet. People speaking over and around him. Voices that never seemed to cease, going round and round.

He remembers Thor and Hela talking, the sound of blades being swept through the air. (_Have they finally killed each other?)_

That. That is the most recent memory.

Loki is alone. A quick glance around the room reveals as much, and the thought strikes him as odd, but he doesn't know why. Is he supposed to have company? He can't remember asking for it. Needing it.

He's warm.

He still feels sick.

(Something is _wrong.)_

The Tesseract pulls within his cache again and Loki gasps, hand snapping towards his heart as it patters against his chest weakly. It skips a few beats before jumping between a normal rhythm and something hissed. He coughs a few more times, biting back a moan that threatens to slip between his teeth.

The Tesseract keeps burning.

Demanding release. Escape.

What is going _on? _The last time Loki can remember it doing anything remotely close to this was after he managed to bridge the Mind Stone and Space together on the Chitauri homeworld. Before he opened the portal with the Mind Stone by tapping into their common energies and commanding Space from afar.

But for the Tesseract to be pulling the same way as it was before…that must mean that someone is trying to reach it. Track it. Tap into it. Pull on it. Having one Infinity Stone can be used as a basic map to the others.

There is only one being that would be trying to tap into the Tesseract now. Only one person who would finally be able to tap at it, because when Loki's magic stuttered within him, he lost the cloak he cast around it. (Lost everything.)

Panic wraps around his throat. His back burns beneath the memories. The scar hidden beneath his hair from when the Master shoved the Power Stone against it so long ago going cold. His entire body is rigid with terror, and he doesn't know how to move anymore. He tries to croak out for help, but his voice won't work as it should.

His tongue is stuck against the roof of his mouth. His entire body feels like he's drained every last drop of energy from it and told to keep pushing for another dozen miles. He can't do this. He can't—he _can't—_

He needs to talk to Thor. To Hela. _He needs someone else to deal with this!_

The Tesseract pulses harder within his body and Loki moans, racking his nails against chest as his heart drops. It skips another few beats, exhausted. It's waning. Losing strength. Loki does not know how much longer he can keep the Tesseract hidden before he snaps all together and kills himself in the process. (_I don't wanna—) _And if he's dead, there will be no defense between Asgard and Thanos.

He has to keep it hidden.

_He needs to talk to his siblings. _He'd even take Heimdall or Brunnhilde. He doesn't care. He can't do this. He can't do this _alone. _Loki's doomed them all. All because he was such an _idiot _and couldn't leave that stupid cube alone, could he? He _had _to take it, like some sort of eager, over-spoiled child. He took it because he chose to.

He chose to condemn them all to this.

_He. Chose. This._

Repentance will be a fantasy. There will be no redemption from his stupid choices this time. It's only fitting, he supposes.

The Tesseract wails. Thanos is calling for it.

Loki grapples with his weak limbs for a moment, swinging his feet over the side of the couch and attempting to get up. He staggers to his hands and knees immediately, unable to take his weight. His vision is spinning, fuzzy at the edges and strangely dark. His palms slam into the hard metal floor and frost spits out across it, which strikes him as odd because Loki thinks if he tries even the most basic of spells right now he'll—

No.

_No!_

Blue. His skin is _blue._

Loki flinches back, shoving onto his heels and releasing something close to a wail when he looks down at his hands. He studies them. Sees the faint traces on his forearms of scars drawn in another lifetime. Sees the disgusting, hideous _blue. _The flesh of a monster. The flesh of _him._

He still can't talk. He's mouthing "no," though, like somehow it will be his redemption if he says it enough. He'll be _rescued._

_Not now. Not now. NOT. NOW!_

He stares at the blue hue of his skin. The slow ridges up his arms, marking his family. He can't breathe. He lifts his shaking hand up to his head, slowly tracing the same lines on his face that he remembers seeing on Laufey. Burned into his memory before he killed him. A horrified gasp escapes him and Loki grabs on his scalp and yanks.

_NO!_

_They've seen it. They've _all _seen it! They know. They _know!

He was awake when Hela carried him from the room. Into the crowd. The memories are blurred by the pain and dulled by a memory that leaves him shaking, but he _remembers _that. She held him close, her skin cold. Not useless, but he knows that he was hurting her. Burning her.

Because he is a _monster _and he can't help if his—

He doesn't know if the decision to shift was conscious or not, but it fails miserably nonetheless, the faintest pull on his sedir crippling him. Loki slams against the floor completely when his limbs refuse to take his weight anymore. His head pulses with pain, but his entire body is searing, so it's hardly at the forefront of his mind. He's crying. The pain is beyond what his broken, scrambled brain can handle.

It's _pathetic._

He is—

_He is—_

The Tesseract groans, demanding release. Loki slams down on the cache as much as he's able, but his frantic anxiety does not lessen when he realizes that his blocking is weak. He is a dust particle in the way of a hand reaching out and plucking the location from him. If they haven't already.

The Tesseract…

_Asgard. _He is putting them in danger. He is putting his siblings in danger. Thanos is coming. He never stopped tracking Loki. _Why did he take that Norns cursed cube!?_

He can deal with...with _that _later. He doesn't have time to be sickened by his heritage. To flinch back from his reflection and panic at the fact that he descended from the race of monsters, and became one himself without even trying. He can't escape his bloodline no matter how much he tries. He can't—

Not now.

(Not ever.)

Loki scrambles up to his feet, weak and barely capable of standing. His mind zeros in on one task, and nothing else matters as much as that. He has to get to Thor and Hela. He has to talk to one of them, and explain—at _long last—_what is going on. He can't keep pretending his sins are never going to catch up with him. Now he is going to cause everyone else to suffer for them, too.

_He's such a noble soul like that, isn't he?_

_Some savior he turned out to be._

Loki miraculously makes it to the door on shaking limbs and shoves his way out into the hall. He nearly topples face first, wincing at the onslaught of lights, but he merely squints and moves on. He has to talk to them. He has to reach them. He has to explain about the Tesseract.

How the Master is seeking it. Thanos has begun his collection. He's moving now, ready to slay and capture any who will oppose him in his mission. He must have, at long last, determined the time was right. Their time is limited.

He's going to die.

And now everyone else is, too.

000o000

He finds his brother first. His brother finds _him._ Loki is making slow progress, leaning heavily against the walls and barely managing to keep himself upright. He hasn't come across anyone else yet, but he thinks he took a wrong turn from how frazzled his mind was, and he ended up in a lower part of the _Statesmen _than he'd hoped for.

Loki runs face-smack into him.

He reaches the end of a corner, nearly ready to give up and wait for someone to come and track him down, but Thor rams into him instead. His brother's hands snap out by habit to steady him, but Loki flinches back and barely manages to keep his sibling from being burned by Loki's disgusting skin.

"What—?" Thor starts to say in confusion, but his one-eyed gaze focuses and relief flashes through them. Guilt squirms in his stomach, because he _knows _his brother, and he knows that that reaction is about to change. "Loki." Thor says his name on instinct and relief. "_Loki—"_

He reaches out again, but Loki draws away. He forces himself beneath a light to remind Thor that _he cannot be touched _and his brother seems to take the point. He freezes, watching Loki's every move carefully.

"Thor," Loki rasps. His voice is heavy. It _hurts. _His throat aches. Everything aches. His chest is getting heavier. It feels weighed down, sloshing with liquid magnets, yanking him down to the floor on a constant basis. Between all that, there isn't much room for breathing. All he's doing are weak gasps and attempts at hyperventilating. "Help…"

He doesn't finish.

It's enough.

Thor's hands raise, itching to help him, but not stupid enough to try. Because however much Loki is trembling all over and would love the reassurance of Thor's strong hand on his shoulder for support, he can't take it. It's only just. Monsters do not deserve comfort. Help. Support.

He wants it so badly he hurts.

"Loki, where have you been?" Thor demands sharply, hands fisting by his sides. "We've been looking for you for the better part of three hours. How have you been down here this whole time and no one noticed!?"

He's been wandering for three hours? Longer? What of it, though? In the face of things, it means very little.

No. It does. Because every hour, every _minute, _that the Tesseract spends on this vessel is one that Thanos is pulling closer to them for. He could be days behind them, or mere minutes. Loki doesn't _know. _He can't track Thanos back without more Stones, and he doesn't have access to them. They have one. One is not enough.

Loki shakes his head. "Doesn't matter." He insists. His own hand twitches as if to raise out, but he stops himself, keeping them still by his sides. He clenches up, trying to keep himself from hurting anyone. He doesn't even have to try. He breathes hard enough and he'll cause permanent damage one way or another.

"It _does!" _Thor snaps. "What were you thinking!? Eir said—"

"Thor." Loki insists, trying to talk over him.

"—that you'd be weak. She didn't expect you to wake up. None of us—how are you even _standing? _You look like death warmed over. What are you doing down here? How did—"

"I have the Tesseract." Loki drops it. He can't be vague around this. He can't let Thor slowly come to his own conclusions slowly and accept this over time like he normally would. This bad news has to be dumped into Thor's lap without warning because Loki does not have _time _for anything else.

Thor goes rigid. He's quiet for nearly a minute, parsing Loki's face before he says, tonelessly. "You're delusional."

He resists the urge to let out a groan of frustration. Loki shakes his head, but regrets his decision when his vision spins. "You never asked how I got away from Surtur so quickly. That's how. I have the Tesseract."

Thor's face is impossible to get a read on. "Loki," he draws his name slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a stupid child and Loki knows immediately that he still doesn't believe him. Thor has always needed a slap more than a nudge. All the same, he can't—

_He can't do this right now!_

"Loki, I think that you should—"

"I'm _not _lying!" Loki's voice is desperate. He tries to take a step forward and staggers, pressing his hand against the wall and curling it against anything he can. The smooth surface slides and Loki has to snap his back up before he can tumble face-first onto the floor. "I have the Tesseract and I've sealed all of our fates. I'm sorry. I hadn't—"

"The Tesseract was destroyed on Asgard." Thor snaps. "You're delusional. Let's get you to Eir, maybe she has—" Thor has begun to reach out again, and Loki pulls away. Without his sedir, he_ can't_ access his cache. It keeps things hidden, safely kept away until he has need of them, but he _can't _touch it without sedir. He can't pull the stupid cube out and wave it at Thor's face to _make _him believe.

"Thor, please—"

"_Loki! _Enough!" Thor throws up his hands, clearly done with trying to be patient. Loki flinches, his teeth smacking together as he draws into himself by habit. Something else must have happened today, pushing Thor over the edge. Loki doesn't have time to contemplate it very much, he doesn't have time for _anything _other than to get the Tesseract out of here.

To warn his people. To warn his _family._

"I'm not going to listen to you rattle on about madness. The Tesseract was in the Treasury Room, you didn't—"

"I took Surtur's crown there." Loki tries to explain. "_I have the Tesseract." _He weighs his words heavily, wishing desperately for his silvertongue to stop fumbling. For _something _to work right. He feels as though he's been grabbed up by his feet and shaken up and down until all his skills—uses, _purpose—_have tumbled out of him. Now he is bare, broken, and exhausted.

And he is dying; there is nothing anyone can do to stop that. Nothing he can do, either.

"I have it." Loki repeats. "It's in my cache. I needed it to escape Surtur. It's how I reached Hela in time. How we appeared on the _Statesmen _even though we didn't bring a vessel. What do I have to say to make you believe me!?" That last part slips out. It's a desperate plea. A beg.

Thor stops. The crinkles of concern and worry on his face are fading to first confusion, and then anger. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, but he knew that this was coming. When he opens them, Thor is almost _vibrating._

"You _took _the Tesseract?"

"Yes."

"You've had it since you stepped on board here nearly five months ago?"

"...Yes."

"Why didn't you mention this before!?" Thor's calm tone snaps like bones being broken and Loki finds his voice has failed him. He stares his older brother in the eye and has to parse the question because he…

_He has to explain everything._

There are no more shadows to hide behind. Thor's ignorance to both weep in relief at and scream in frustration. He can't keep this to himself anymore, and...and he finds that he's _relieved _by the prospect. Terrified, but to have someone else _know…_

No. No, nevermind. He takes all that back. He doesn't want Thor to know.

He can't. He can't _do _this, but he has to. He'll be dead in a few days and Thor and the others have a better chance of survival if Loki warns them first. When he...passes on, the Tesseract will be left behind in his wake. Everything else in the cache is scattered matter he re-pulls together, but the Tesseract is different. It's an Infinity Stone. Loki couldn't conceal it like he could everything else.

But he can't outright tell Thor that he owes a debt to a mad Titan, and if he doesn't fulfill it at some point in their long existences, he'll be—

_Oh, Norns, he can't go back._

_If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no—_

"I…" Loki falters. He tries to find himself. To collect himself. He fails. "Thor—"

"How could you be so _stupid?" _Thor seethes. He's still. A sure sign of his fury. Thor is only rigid when he's angry. Loki snaps back from the words. "I gave you _one job. One! _I trusted you to put Surtur back together and instead you steal the Tesseract and don't bother to mention that until _months have passed—"_

"I know it wasn't the best decision!" Loki snaps, the coiling snake of his temper hissing despite Loki's best efforts to calm it. "I wasn't thinking straight!"

"So you _stole _an Infinity Stone!?"

"I didn't—" Loki stops, breathing out sharply, and pulling his gaze away from his sibling for a moment. He gathers himself, clenching his shaking palms and wishes desperately that he could sit down. He's so disoriented he's struggling to keep his balance, even though he knows that he's facing up. "I didn't tell you so you would castigate me. Someone is hunting it, brother. They're collecting all the Stones together to slaughter half the universe and he's coming _here—_" Loki's entire spine seizes as the words truly register inside his mind "—and he'll kill everyone on this ship to take the Tesseract. I'm sorry. I was a fool. I've doomed us all, but I _had to—"_

He flinches and squeezes his eyes shut when he sees Thor's fist coming, always physical with his frustrations, and waits. And _waits. _The knuckle does not make contact with him, and Loki pulls his eyes apart in wonder, staring up at the familiar dark hair of Brunnhilde, scooted between the two of them. She caught Thor's fist. Loki hadn't even heard her _coming._

"Thor." Brunnhilde says flatly. Loki's heart settles in his chest with relief. It is not the first time his brother has hit him, but it doesn't make it any easier to bare. She helped him. She _protected _him. How did she even find them? Loki hadn't...he..._he is so sick. He is so dizzy. Tired. He wants to lay down._

The Tesseract sears again and Loki grits his teeth together at the pain, resisting the urge to slam his hand on top of his heart.

"You didn't _have _to do anything." Thor seethes. "You chose this! You _chose—"_

"Are you even listening!?" Loki tries to keep his voice from slipping into open panic, but the shouting just makes it more obvious how distressed he is. "I just told you that we're all about to die and the only thing you can focus on is that stupid cube?"

"How do you even know what this man is doing?" Thor argues. "If you'd met someone as insane as him, you would have mentioned it to Father a long time ago." No. He wouldn't have. Not after he let go. Maybe even before then. "I would have heard about it. Does sedir collapse involve memory loss or vivid hallucinations?" Thor turns to the Valkyrie at that, and Loki feels his jaw drop.

_Sedir collapse?_

_That _is his diagnosis? He felt it shift inside him, but he'd only thought that maybe he'd overstrained himself. Not _stop his heart. _Oh, Norns, this is worse than he thought. How is he still _alive? _Awake? Functioning, for that matter? He should be in a coma or Valhalla. He shouldn't—

Loki shakes his head to clear it. No. Not here. Not _now. _(At least he knows why he's dying.)

Thanos is coming. He has to keep them safe. He has to..._has to…please let him lay down._

"No. It doesn't." The Valkyrie's voice is flat. "But I'm not an expert. You should cross reference that with Eir."

"You're insane." Thor says flatly to Loki, and then begins to stalk forward. He brushes past Loki and treks down the hall, worry and concern from the beginning long forgotten within the tangle of emotions he's wearing now. Loki's insides wail with despair, but he nonetheless twists around and forces himself to follow after the elder.

"Thor!" he cries in protest, reaching out his hand.

He doesn't make it very far. His limbs nearly give out in a tangled heap of nothingness, and if not for the arm that loops around his waist and others that grab for his forearms, he would have stumbled face-first into the hard floor below.

The Tesseract pulses, impatient. Agony twists through his heart and he cries out.

"Thor, please—for once in your life, _WILL YOU LISTEN!?__" _The shout screams from years of bitterness pent up and throwing itself out like scattering arrows. Thor has never listened. Not when Loki needed him to. Not int he decades before this, the centuries where he drowned in the dark and Thor bathed in the sunlight. He was _alone, _screaming into a void, and he still is, now. _Nothing _has changed.

He hates himself for it. Hates how _raw _he feels. Like his upper layers have been peeled away, leaving only the broken scattered man he is behind. He hasn't been put together for a long, long time. He pretends, but in reality? He is only a pained, twisted _thing._

"What on Bor's severred head is going on?"

That's Hela's voice. Loki looks down, sees the familiar vambrace and feels himself pale. He doesn't want an audience for this. He wants to talk to someone one-on-one, where it will be easier to gauge their reactions and he won't have to worry about a team-up against him. This is not what he wanted at all.

Hela's hand helps steady him, pulling him upright again, and Loki slaps a hand over his mouth to withhold vomit.

Thor whirls around, eyebrows shot to his hairline. His lips part in question, but their sister answers before he gets a chance to say anything. "Heimdall found him. He directed me here, and probably Eir."

Which means that the Valkyrie and Thor must have already been together. They were looking for him for _three _hours, and he's not even sure how he got so lost.

Eir is coming? Great. Someone else to watch him fumble over himself.

"Darling, what are you talking about?" Hela's voice is even. She comes to stand in front of him, grabbing on Thor's wrist and yanking him back. Thor goes with some resistance, but at the nasty look Hela shoots him, slowly shifts forward.

Loki looks between his siblings, and then Brunnhilde, wiping ice from her gloves.

He swallows, throat tight. "I—"

"Loki thinks he has the Tesseract, and someone is hunting him for it. Apparently this man has the plans to wipe out half the universe once he's collected them all." Thor explains in a rush. Loki sees Hela's expression flicker with open disbelief for a moment and feels his throat tighten. He'd never thought, not in a million years, when he explained this that anyone would _doubt_ him. He thought they would take his word for it, but after..._after_...he can't blame them for their hesitancy, even if it hurts.

They're never going to believe him. Not without _proof, _because they think he's not in his right mind after the sedir...collapse. _Did that really happen?_

They...proof. He _has _proof. Written across his skin like a document. Fine. If they won't be made believers without a stupid sign, he'll deal with it himself. Loki grabs at the fraying shirt he's dressed in and twists a little before he yanks it off and over his head. He twists around before he can see anyone's expression and displays the ugly scars to them.

"Thanos, the man collecting the Stones, did this to me. If you will not believe my word, trust what he's already done." For all his entire body is trembling, his voice is almost perfectly collected. It's a facade. He's falling apart. Falling. He's never going to get up.

Everyone behind him is deathly quiet. Still. He hears Thor give a ragged exhale, and feels his own shoulders tighten, pulling up subconsciously. He is raw. He is a wound without any filtering. The infected ooze squished out and _he hates it._

He never wanted anyone to see this. He never wanted anyone to _know. _Now is he forced to because they doubted.

"Loki," Thor, strained, whispers. And then, all at once, Loki is _immensely_ grateful he can see no one's faces.

"That's a slave brand." Brunnhilde's voice is flat. Loki's hands clench around the shirt tighter. The scars, white or pink, must stick out with stark contrast compared to what they would have on his Aesir skin. White against white made them essentially invisible.

_He hates this._

"For the Chitauri." Brunnhilde finishes. Loki gives a wordless nod. His short hair bobs against his neck. He hears Thor make some sort of noise, a mixture between a sob and an enraged growl, and Loki can't remain ignorant anymore. He gyrates as Thor slams his fist into the wall.

Hela's jaw tightens as she eyes the blond, but she's so tense Loki thinks a stiff wind will shatter her. Her entire face is clouded in an anger. She looks ready to kill something.

"Thor." She grits out.

"_Stop it." _Thor hisses. "Don't try to placate _now." _He jerks out a finger and slams it against Hela's collarbone. "You weren't here for any of this, you don't get to pretend you understand."

Brunnhilde's eyes wildly flit between the two of them, obviously deciding whether or not to step between them, or encourage Thor on.

"That wasn't my choice, was it? You know that now." Hela's voice is deathly quiet. His heart thumps, scattered. He's going to be sick. "And it doesn't _matter _that I was here or not, because he is _still _my brother, and what happened is _my_ onus to know."

"You—" Brunnhilde starts, and Loki's patience meets its end.

"_SHUT IT!_" Loki's voice breaks, raw and hoarse, but the two of them snap shut, all eyes swiveling to face him. Loki's nails are digging into his palms hard enough to make him fear he'll split the skin over his knuckles open. "Are you going to listen now?" The question slips out before he can stop it, but he means it. Bitter and soft, it bites through the air like it will wound them. He's not crazy. It really happened. _This _is really happening. He doesn't know if he can stand any longer.

Thor whirls, jerking a finger out towards him, accusing. "_Why did you not mention this before!?"_

Loki feels his posture close off, and something harsh slips between his teeth. A laugh, but it sounds more like a growl. "When? _When _would we have sat down and discussed this? Over tea when you visited me post Midgard? When you came to share your grief with me about Mother? When you returned to Asgard before Surtur? In the long months we have spent fighting for our survival? When—w_hen would we have talked about this!?_ Tell me. _Tell me!"_

Thor looks like he's been slapped. Loki feels vindictively pleased about this; how _wounded _he appears, but hates himself for it a moment later. _He's supposed to be better than this—but he's not._

"I thought that—for _years _I have thought—" Thor stutters. He fumbles over himself, looking away from Loki sharply. He doesn't look like he knows how to respond. Part of Loki isn't surprised by this. Thor is not always the best with his words. He _knows _that. Thor turns back, looking incredulous. "You're blaming _me _for this!?"

Loki throws up his hands. "I didn't _say_ that I blamed anyone!"

"New York." Thor snaps. "New York—was that _you? _You had the Mind Stone, but that doesn't mean that..._was that you?"_

Loki's teeth grit together. He forces his tongue to work even though he'd rather turn tail and book it. "That depends on your definition."

Behind Thor, Loki sees Hela and Brunnhilde share a confused look. How much do they know about what happened before? _How much do they know? _Loki hasn't made himself a flowing fountain of knowledge. Beyond what Banner has mentioned and he and Thor have skirted around, there has been very little talk of it. Part of him is relieved by this, another exhausted. _He doesn't want to talk any more on this._

Thor swears harshly, looking like he wants to hit something. He runs a hand through his hair raggedly, "You denied any affiliation with mind control when I asked you."

Loki bites on the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "I didn't. I avoided the question."

"_What _are you _talking _about!?" Hela demands, taking a step up beside Thor. "This has to do with Loki's attack on Midgard, doesn't it?"

Both of them ignore her.

"You _lied _to me!"

"I do that a lot. You aren't paying enough attention to catch most of them." The words slip out before he can stop them, and Loki takes an instinctive step back when Thor takes one forward. Brunnhilde, on Loki's left, reaches out to steady him when he stumbles. He feels hunted. _He thought this would go over better. _He didn't expect Thor to be so _angry. _Maybe a little annoyed. Not—not this _fury._

The Tesseract whines and Loki flinches, remembering the true purpose of this. He isn't here to have a row with his brother. For them to scream until they can't talk anymore. Because, while that appeals, _it doesn't matter. _Not with Thanos coming in the distance. Not with everyone's lives on the line.

The anger seems to...deflate him. He releases a breath and feels as his shoulders sag. "Thor," his voice is softer. Defeated. "Thor, this doesn't matter. Not now."

Thor makes a noise as Hela takes a step towards him. Her face has evened out, but she looks both angry and sick. Loki leans back from her, uncomfortable, but watches as her hand reaches out, stopping to hover in front of the scar the Kursed left behind. Hela's fingers curl. She looks up towards his face. "This does matter. This is a fatal wound. This man nearly _killed_ you."

And for someone who reminds them on what is nearly a daily basis that she'd love to see them dead, she seems awfully concerned with that. Loki looks away from his siblings. "That wasn't Thanos."

"Loki." Thor. Strained. _He knows._

"Not now." Loki shakes his head, fighting with the cloth of his shirt for a moment before wrestling with it to get it over his head. The cloth is a thin barrier against their eyes, but it's something. He gives himself a moment to fall apart before drawing himself back together again and looking up towards the faces of his elders. "Thanos is coming for the Tesseract. I can feel him pulling on it. Whether or not you want to accept that, _it is a fact."_

"Alright." Thor's tone is calmer. He's beginning to process. Think. He's stopped letting anger think for him. "Alright. I'm sorry. What do you want us to do about it?"

Loki's jaw tightens. "I don't _know._ Until I can have access to my sedir, the Tesseract is tethered to me. If you left me behind than Thanos might—"

"No. Don't be daft." Hela's tone leaves no room for argument.

"It's reasonable." Loki snaps. He'll be dead in a few days anyway. Does it really matter whether his soul transcends here verses some random trading post they dump him at? He can't let his idiotic mistakes be the death of everyone. It's selfish. He knows that it's selfish, but _he can't watch anyone else die._

"If Thanos is such a problem, we'll wait for him to get here and kill him. I can handle him." Hela says flatly. "No one is truly invisible."

Loki feels his face drop. His hands tremble, and chapped lips part for the strangled whisper of "He is. When he's collected the rest of the Stones, he can accomplish his goal with a snap of his fingers. Death follows him like a shadow."

"I'll kill him." Hela doesn't sound phased. How can she be so lax on this!? "You don't have to run off and pretend to play hero."

"_I have to." _Loki says, and realizes that the words are true. He _can't _just sit here, knowing what is to come if he does. If he can reach the escape vessels, old and untrustworthy as they are, fast enough, he might be able to give the Asgardians the head start they need to reach Midgard and her meager protections. Loki is a goner with or without Thanos. At least this way, he doesn't drag the remaining survivors with him.

He has to go. Without a way to take the Tesseract out, Loki is a target. He needs to stop painting everyone else in the same hideous red. They have no other options. It's Loki or them, and he's more partial to the latter than he is the former.

It's...it's okay. He can do this for them. It won't be a problem because he'll have done something _right. _He'll defeat his natural instincts. He'll be _good. _He can sacrifice his life for theirs. Not an equal trade, but enough.

(_I don't wanna die!)_

This is what he has to do.

"Loki," Thor's voice is earnest. "Loki, we can handle this. We've dealt with all the other problems that came, how much worse can this one be?"

Did those previous problems involve genocidal maniacs with Infinity Stones? No? Well, that's not much of a surprise. Thor has no idea what they're up against. Neither does Hela. It's only Loki. They're making this seem so much easier than it really will be. _They don't get it._

"I—" Loki's voice comes out strangled. He stares between his sister and brother, trying to burn their faces into his memory. His resolve has settled. (_I don't wanna die!) _He doesn't get a choice on something else. And it makes sense. He's the one who began to unravel this whole mess by falling into the Void. He can sacrifice himself to fix it. He's not afraid. He's...he's at peace with this.

Brunnhilde rests a gloved hand on his shoulder and Loki tries not to wince. "Lacky, I promise. We'll be fine. What else do we need to know about this man before he arrives?"

Loki swallows. He tries to gather himself, breathing out through his nose slowly. _Nothing. _There is _nothing _they must know because Loki is going to prevent them from ever having to deal with the problem. They'll be safe. Loki will die. It will be okay.

(_I don't wanna die!)_

"N-nothing." Loki stammers. "I think I may have been confused. Maybe...maybe…"

Hela's eyes narrow as Thor's mouth thins with open protest. Loki'a convinced them, and he regrets his decision more than he can say. He should have thought this over. Should have weighed his options before committing himself to finding them. If he'd been in less of a panic—_he had three hours_—than he could have slipped out with non the wiser. Instead…

_Instead…_

"I don't. Don't know." His silvertongue tastes like copper. His words broken.

"Lackey." Brunnhilde starts. "You can't clamp up now. We're taking you seriously. Don't shut up, for once in your life."

But they don't _understand! _It's an equal trade. His life for theirs. It can't be helped. He has...he has to get off the _Statesmen_ and get himself to Thanos. But without any ability to get the Tesseract from Loki alive, Loki will be collateral damage in the wake of the Titan's rampage. But his family will be safe.

"Talk." Hela says between gritted teeth.

Loki panics. He can't talk. They'll try and make him stop when they shouldn't. _He can't say anything. He has to die._

"I'm sorry." Loki whispers. They all share a confused look, but Loki stares at them. The scar that traces over Thor's eye beneath the patch, the scar on Hela's left ear that leaves it looking mangled. How Hela's eyes crease when she's annoyed, the way Thor's biting on his inner cheek even though Father tried to grind that habit out of him years ago. _He is not going to see them again. "_I'm sorry." He repeats.

"Brother," Hela takes a step forward, her voice careful. Loki does the only thing he can think of: he sways dramatically, twitches, and attempts to say something else before he collapses forward, boneless, pretending to have slipped into unconsciousness.

He hears his siblings scramble, and feels Thor's hands loop beneath his shoulders, catching him before he can hit the ground. His sister swears violently, but there's nothing Loki can do now. He can't even draw up guilt concerning the deception.

This is for them.

That's all that matters.

Thanos will not lay a grimy, ugly finger on their heads. Not while he has a say in it.

000o000

They take him to the healing wing of the _Statesmen, _and Loki hears Eir direct them to an area with more privacy. He waits in agonized stillness for hours. Eir gives him a once-over, but finds nothing else to be wrong beyond what she already found. Loki lets himself enter a meditative stance to keep his lack of unconsciousness hidden, letting his body's troubles slip as far from his mind as he can. It helps, when Eir prods at him with gloved fingers and all he wants to do is scream or flinch and pull away. He remains quiet. Still. Cadaverous.

He feels as his heart beats in his chest. The constant drumming. It wars against his ribcage, threatening to burst. Eir thinks it's a sign of how much worse things have gotten. It's not. It's his panic. Eir must know that he's not asleep. She _must _know, but she says nothing. She lets him pretend. He appreciates it, just as much as he hates it.

"He's such an idiot." Hela says, but her voice sounds strange.

"Do you think he'll ever awaken again?" Thor says, but it's without hope. He sounds defeated.

"I don't know." Eir says, but it's pointed. _She knows. _

"Is there merit to what he was talking on?" Heimdall questions, and there's silence before Hela answers, "I saw him use the Tesseract. When he teleported from the palace. He put me to sleep before he took us to the _Statesmen, _but..."

"I would take what he said with a grain of salt." Eir counters firmly, but gently, "He's not exactly in his right mind."

"All the same..." Thor whispers.

They're taking him seriously. He's relieved by it, just as much as he hates it. They shouldn't have to deal with this. If Loki had just been _thinking, _then they wouldn't know about it, period. At least he's found the solution. Better late than never.

Within his stillness, he learns of Eir's lack of hope regarding a full recovery. Hears Hela and Thor's despair. They think that he's slipped back into a coma, and the brief stem of his waking was the last they'll see of him. They aren't wrong, but it's not in the way they're thinking.

He has to leave.

He's ready.

The words blur together, hardly making sense. He waits. And he waits. And _waits. _He needs his siblings to leave because they'll never let him go. The others—he can convince them with effort. But not his sister or brother. He has to keep up the facade, even as much as he would rather he doesn't.

Thanos is coming. The Tesseract is still being yanked at. It hurts, but he's had more than enough practice schooling his features to pretend that he's perfectly at peace despite the fact he feels like he's dying.

When Thor and his sister finally leave, not together, but separately, Loki is left alone with Banner and two of Eir's aids. It's been close to seventeen hours since he "passed out." _Too long, too long, too long._ The mortal man has had considerable success in waring his siblings off to sleep and eat, if it was a different set of circumstances, he'd be impressed. But he doesn't have the time to do that now. Once his sister has left the room and it's been enough time that she won't be in the hall any longer, he jerks upright.

Banner makes a noise that sounds rather like he's been punched in the gut, jumping a good few inches as the aids jerk back. "Loki!" the Midgardian squeaks. Loki swivels his vision towards the doctor, watching as the man slowly pulls his hands away from his heart. His eyes are blown wide. "Y-you're awake! That...that was…Eir said." He clears his throat, starting to get up to his feet. "I'll go get your siblings. They'd, um. Like to know."

He doesn't have _time _to deal with this.

"Prince Loki!" one of the aid's exclaim.

The other approaches him, her hands gloved and eyes wide. They all look like they're staring at a ghost. "Just remain calm," the aid instructs softly. Her lips bright red. It's the only thing he can focus of on her face. _W__hy _are they so bright? "We're going to help you, your highness."

He had every intention of talking his way out of this. He did. But his patience snaps and the room is empty save himself and the three of them. He can't wait any longer. The pull is getting worse, Thanos must be getting closer, and Loki is acting like a tracking beacon. If only he could just hurl that stupid cube into space.

Loki rolls up to his feet, swaying momentarily. Banner's hands raise like he intends to offer help, but stop. "Loki—" Banner tries. "Loki, you need to lay down. Let me—"

The aids scramble.

Before any can make a move against him, he grabs Banner by his forearm and twists the limb behind his back, dragging him against the nearest wall. Banner struggles, but in the face of things, he is a mere child in comparison to Loki's strength. Banner's slammed against the wall, harder than he really intended, and makes a gasping noise. Steam rises and Loki glances down, confused, before he sees that his skin is burning the mortal's flesh.

Loki's _hands. _He's still—it—

_Focus._

"Loki." Banner's still trying to calm him. Loki can hear how wildly the man's heart is beating. He's terrified. "Loki, calm down. It's just me. You're on the _Statesmen, _it's—"

Loki slams the mortal's head against the wall. Banner crumples, blood beginning to leak from the cut on his forehead. He ducks to the side as he senses one of the aid's call on sedir, watching the spell slam against the wall behind him. A forced sedative, if he had to guess. Loki's body screams, straining. He sees the pulse of Banner's skin beginning to reveal the beast and panics. He can't deal with the beast!

"Prince Loki," the other aid says calmly, shooting a discouraging look at her counterpart. "My prince, calm down. You're safe. We're friends."

Weapon. He needs a weapon. He doesn't see anything immediate and curses under his breath before diving at the first aid. She squeaks, stumbling back and yanks a dagger from off her waist, wielding it towards him. Loki dodges her swipes and attempts to stop him, grabbing at her forearm. He watches the burn spread up her skin before twisting and throwing her across the room. She goes flying into some equipment, smashing into several bottles. Glass and liquid spills across the ground.

Loki hears another spell building and dives for Banner, ducking behind him as the Hulk begins to roar, only to be hit with the sleeping spell. He crumples instantly, and Loki rises up to his feet. The woman eyes him, obnoxious lips pressed together with concern and worry. "Prince Loki," she says carefully. "I need you to calm down. You have nothing to fear here."

"My siblings." Loki swallows the words, feeling like he's drowning. "Will you tell them...tell them that I'm sorry? That I...I wish it could have been different. That I..._I_..." 

"Loki..." the aid shakes her head. She looks frazzled.

"Please." Loki presses. The aid's hands whir, building another spell and Loki takes a step forward. The Tesseract screams and the adrenaline fails him. He staggers, falling onto the hard ground with a thump.

_No, no, no! _He doesn't get to do this! He's close. He's _so close!_

He forces himself up with effort, breathing hard and fast. He's going to be sick. It's inevitable. He blows out a weighted breath. One more to go, one more. He can do this. Thanos won't get them. Thanos won't...won't...

It's instinct, rather than thought, that causes him to dodge the next blow, and Loki shoves forward. He tackles the aid to the ground who lets out a scream of pain as his fingers contact with her skin. Loki swallows his guilt and disgust, pulling her up. Their eyes meet wildly, and he feels her moving for the weapon concealed in her skirts. Loki shoves her towards Banner, seeing the other aid beginning to try and get up from amid the glass. 

They're busy. They can't stop him now. That was the goal.

Loki's eyes zero on the door and he sprints for it, shouldering it nearly off its hinges and he frantically dives for the hall. He has to go. Has to get out of here. Has to...

The Tesseract wails.

Loki's hand slaps to his heart as he bites back tears of agony. He allows himself a brief moment of open panic before washing it aside.

The Tesseract pulls harder. 

Loki grits his teeth together and begins the journey to the escape pods. He may be sick, half dead and getting closer to fully dead by the minute, and without his sedir, but Loki has been a master of stealth since he could walk. His mother lost track of him constantly because Loki, even if he didn't mean to or not, was good at making people lose their attention on him.

This holds true even now.

Loki steps inside the cockpit and locks the door behind him, slumping down into the pilot's seat. He grips the controls and grapples with staring it up for several long seconds before exhaling stiffly into the silence and bites on his lip, trying not to cry. This is what needs to happen. He doesn't have a _choice. _He turns on cloaking and disables the tracker, forcing his shaking hands through motions that have long sense grown automatic.

He leaves frost on everything, enough that he fears he's going to cause a system failure. But when he turns the pod on, it hesitates, seeming to cough, and roars to life.

His hands tremble, and he blows out a stiff breath. This is what needs to happen. This is what he has to do. Monsters deserve to die, anyway. He's just doing them all a favor. Maybe if he was better...maybe then he would have been something worth fighting over. As it is…

The dream he had within the fog sticks with him. He knows what it was, but he refuses to admit it to himself. He knew he was dying, if on a subconscious level, and he'd panicked. He'd tried to get help, but everything Eir was doing failed and he is going to _die _and there's nothing that can be done about that. If Thanos doesn't kill him, his sedir will.

Loki disengages from the _Statesmen, _and yanks on the controls to steer the pod in the opposite direction that they're traveling. _He can do this, he can do this, he can—_

The Tesseract screams and Loki flinches, a full body tremble that shakes him from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. His mind flashes to the Other circling around him and his whispered threat, _you think you know pain? _and the wounds that nearly killed him. He can't let that happen to the others. He _won't _let that happen.

The Tesseract was his salvation, so many years ago. Now_—I don't wanna die__—_it is his execution.

* * *

_"_ _It's ice cold in the shadows; one foot in the grave,_

_Brace my soul, 'cause there's no good in the place I'm going."_

_-_"Devil Inside" - CRMNL

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the beginning (to most) of this chapter felt sort of like a confusing or a mess, that was intentional. I was trying to show how frazzled Loki was, hopefully it wasn't indecipherable. ;)
> 
> I will say nothing regarding the end of this. :D
> 
> Next chapter: Soon. Before the end of January for certain, probably sooner. I'm on a roll and have a little more free time this weekend. We'll see.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some violence.

* * *

Thor drives his fist into the wall until the fine skin spread over his knuckles splits and blood dribbles down his fingers. The red liquid is followed by a burning sensation of pain, but he doesn't pay attention to that. It doesn't seem to matter in the grand scale of things. The bones are broken or at least badly sprained; he can feel how strangely disconnected they are. Flexing his fingers meets resistance, and a sharp acid-like stinging.

He coils his muscles, preparing for another assault, but is only met with resistance when Hela's deft fingers catch his bicep. He breathes out heavily in something dangerously close to a pant and looks up at her furiously. Her face is etched with anger on every available crease, but it's the slight curve of her lips that stops him from fighting her.

That is the promise of fury so deep he doesn't dare play against it.

"Thor," it isn't Hela that speaks—her jaw is too rigid. He suspects if she tries to talk, she'll only scream—but another hand briefly touches his shoulder. "Thor, stop. You aren't going to solve anything by hitting things; believe me, I know." Bruce placates. He slips into Thor's line of sight, in the small space between him and the wall, obviously intending to stand in as a barrier for Thor's rampage.

A part of him is embarrassed, but the rest can't dredge up enough energy to care properly.

"How could he have been so stupid?" Thor hisses, yanking his arm free of his sister so he can pace the length of the room. _Their _room. That stupid L-shaped couch that they've claimed as a bed for months, the stain of ink from when Hela "accidentally" dropped on of the containers Loki was using when he annoyed her, the makeshift game of square-cut papers to resemble chess pieces Thor was attempting to teach both of them.

Loki is written across every surface and it _hurts._

_How could have been such an idiot?_

"We were _right here, _he could have come to us! But no—instead he has to play the hero and go running off into the dark like that's somehow supposed to _fix everything!?" _Thor wants to hit something else. The tense, coiled energy inside of him demanding a release.

"I know that you're angry—" Bruce tries again, hesitantly.

"I'm _past _anger now," Thor interrupts, waving his hands widely. He can taste ozone, and his skin is prickling with static electricity. "I don't care how many years it takes, but when I see him, I am going to _kill _him."

"Not if I beat you to it." Brunnhilde mutters darkly from her perch on the couch. She's seated rigidly, her Dragonfang's tip touching the floor as she spins it absentmindedly. There's an angry, haunted look to her face.

When she and Bruce arrived at the room with the latter looking worse for wear, Thor had assumed something had _happened, _but never, not in a million years, would he have guessed that Loki had done _this. _What was he thinking? _Was _he thinking? Loki isn't stupid, he obviously ran through the possibilities and, in his hazy state, determined that this was the best one.

It wasn't. _Isn't._

It hurts, somewhere deep and quiet, that Loki _still _doesn't think that Thor could protect him. That Thor could keep him safe as he swore to so long ago. Loki doesn't trust him. He doesn't trust _them. _Whatever the creature after him, there's nothing that a good blade between the eyes won't solve. He may not have Mjolnir anymore, but he can peg an axe off of Hela. It will be just as effective.

The insane desire to laugh bubbles up in him, but he holds it down, pacing the length of the room again. He doesn't kick anything, though he wants to.

_Loki._

That stupid, selfish, megalomaniac—

"So he's gone?" There's an odd flatness to Hela's tone. A resigned sort of emptiness that unsettles Thor more than anger would have. It's the first words she's spoken since Bruce burst in and explained the situation to them in as few breaths as possible. Thor hadn't even understood what he was saying until Hela backhanded the scientist and told him to shut up and go slower.

Then it has just been him talking. Asking questions. She stood at his side like a glowering statue, arms folded and expression dead.

"Yes." Bruce nods, rubbing at his temples. "I don't remember much, but the aide that woke me up was part of the mess. She saw him run off. One of the escape pods is missing and we can't find him anywhere. Eir is looking for Heimdall, but…"

"But our chances of catching up to him are slim now that he has the Tesseract." Thor finishes the thought for him. He swears under his breath harshly, even as his shoulders slump in defeat. "He could be anywhere in the galaxy."

"Great." Brunnhilde sighs. "So we only have to search _everywhere. _That won't take any time whatsoever."

_Curse it, _Loki!

Bruce is shaking his head. "We just need to go looking for that guy. Thanos, right? If we can find him, we find Loki." The doctor looks between them, hands wringing anxiously in the absence of glasses to mangle.

Thor flexes his damaged hand, grimacing at the pain. It helps, strange as it is. Helps narrow-focus his mind.

"Maybe." Thor submits, doubtful. "But we need to find him _before _he reaches the madman. Loki seemed certain that Thanos was going to kill everyone. Including him. If Loki finds Thanos before we find him…"

_All-Fathers help them._

"That won't happen." Hela sounds far more certain than Thor is. "We'll find him before he gets himself killed."

"_How?" _Thor whirls to face her. "How are we going to do that, exactly? _He _has the Tesseract, we have a ship that was manufactured before Father's youth. We can't use the jump points, the engines aren't powerful enough to catch up to a faster and smaller craft, and we have no way to track him. _How!?"_

"I don't know!" Hela seethes, coiling up. "But yelling isn't going to fix it."

"_I'm not—!"_ Thor cuts himself off, realizing that he has, in fact, been shouting. He releases a calming breath that feels more like a rattling hiss. He drops his shoulders and clutches his hand next to his stomach, trying to _breathe._

He's not going to scream.

He's not going to panic.

Loki needs him levelheaded, because the ravenhead is busy being the impulsive idiot between the two of them. Typically, that's _his _job, and Loki's to come up with the solution on how to fix it. He's not very good at this role reversal. He releases another calming breath, but it doesn't seem to be helping much.

The door to the room hisses, and Thor twists around to face it; his body lurching into a fighting stance despite himself. It's unwarranted, because the only people that enter is Heimdall and Eir. Thor feels some relief wash through him at the sight of the two, but it falls just as quickly when he sees how grim they both look. Heimdall has not come with good news, and Eir knows it.

"My king," Heimdall addresses him, and then briefly glances to Hela. "Commander."

"Please spare us the formalities," Hela's voice is barely above a jibe. "Say what you have to and then leave." Thor shoots her a reprimanding scowl, but she isn't looking at him.

"The prince has left the vessel." Heimdall begins. "With the intent, I believe, to deliver himself _and_ the Tesseract up to this creature Thanos. He's headed for a small, but desolate world on the edge of the galaxy called Titan."

Thor's brow furrows. He's heard of Titan in his studies. There was nothing overly special about it resource-wise, just the fact that there was a mass slaughter that ended with the species going extinct. "_A pity," _his tutor had drawled in a careless tone, "_that such life had to be lost. Starvation killed half of them, and a massive civil war destroyed the rest."_

Titans had a long lifespan, Thor remembers suddenly. He wasn't studying it in history, it was genetics and biological buildup. It was nothing quite as long as Asgard or the rest of the Nine save Midgard, barely close to only seven hundred years, but it was one of the longest in the outer rim.

But that's the thing: Titan is _years _away from where they are without any use of a rosen-bridge. Heimdall wouldn't know the location Loki was traveling in for just as long unless Loki babbled about it to himself. And Loki _doesn't _talk to himself. Not even in private. For as long as Thor knew him, he can never remember his brother doing that. Part of why Loki unsettled so many people was because he was so quiet_—_

Tesseract. Loki has the Tesseract. That's how he got there. But even _then, _where to Heimdall know where to look?

"How…" Thor stops, trying to figure out how best to phrase the question. "How do you know that? How can you see where Loki is going? How did you track the _Tesseract?_"

Heimdall pauses and then frowns as if the question surprised him. "I did not."

"_Then—"_

"Your brother did not use the Tesseract." Heimdall adds after a moment. Thor feels his face furrow, and his teeth grit together in annoyance. Does he have to speak in riddles _now? _Can't he just speak plainly, and say what he means? Thor doesn't have the patience to deal with Heimdall's circling.

"Why not?" Bruce asks, sounding just as baffled as Thor feels. "He _has _it. It's teleportation device across space. Why wouldn't he use that? I would."

"Because he…" Heimdall trails, and then stops, seeming to register something. A brief flicker of surprise snatches at his features before he turns to Brunnhilde, "You did not tell them?"

Wait—

"Tell us what?" Thor questions slowly, turning to face her. Brunnhilde's lips thin slightly and she sighs, shaking her head.

"No." At the look the gatekeeper shoots her, she snaps, "Inbetween everything else with Lackey, there wasn't really a good time."

"_Brunnhilde." _Heimdall says sternly. Thor looks between the two helplessly, but whatever great secret Brunnhilde is hiding isn't on her face. She's isn't looking at him, instead staring at the floor. It doesn't seem to compel her into speaking any more than Heimdall's glower does. She remains mute and grumpy, slouched into the furniture.

Thor shifts closer to her slowly, but Hela doesn't wait. She storms across the space in even strides, stepping plainly over the coffee table and, before Brunnhilde can do much more than look up, wraps a hand around the other woman's throat and yanks her up. Hela draws a sword with her other hand.

Thor panics.

_Curse it!_

Brunnhilde squirms in the grip, but the amount of her struggles suggest that Hela hasn't left the Valkyrie in any real state of danger. "Talk." Hela says flatly. "And pray do so quickly. My brother's life is on the line. If he dies because you withheld information, so do you. Slowly. Agonizingly. You've seen my work. You know what I can do."

Brunnhilde pales, but it hasn't lost as much blood as it would have if Hela was _squeezing. _The position seems to be one of intimidation, and, though Thor isn't _fond _of it, at least it isn't an act of another murder attempt.

"Sister," Thor steps up behind her.

"Shut up." Hela demands without looking at him. "General. _Speak."_

"It's not…" Brunnhilde starts, but Thor sees Hela's fingers strain and Brunnhilde kicks her feet widely grasping at his sister's forearm frantically. "The pods…" Brunnhilde squeezes out, "I lied about the pods."

The escape pods? When did Brunnhilde have the chance _to_ lie about them? No one ever brought them up. Thor can only remembering requesting her to take a count of how many there were in those first few days. She reported back that there was five. That was that. He didn't ask for anything more, but maybe he _should _have. He wasn't exactly thinking clearly then, though.

What did she find? What did...Brunnhilde...lied. She lied like _everyone else_ in his life does. Thor feels his stomach drop. He squeezes his hand, trying to ground himself with the pain. It doesn't help. Is it wrong to ask for _one _person that he can—

Stop it.

_Stop it._

"Explain." Hela's voice is collected. It grounds him to _now._

Brunnhilde's toes scrape against the ground and Thor rests a hand on Hela's shoulder pointedly. His sister seems to deflate against the touch, but she doesn't release the Valkyrie. With a strangled inhale, Brunnhilde says rapidly to _him_, "You concluded that the _Statesmen _was an older ship. It is. But the Grandmaster was nothing if afraid of death. Bits of ships fell in through the portals all the time. Do you really think we didn't find the proper bits of engines to reconstruct a newer model? One that knew how to use the jumps? The escape pods. They were all re-manufactured to include the tech. If he needed to run, he wanted to be prepared. That's...all...that's all I swear."

Hela drops the Valkyrie. Brunnhilde tumbles to her hands and knees, breathing in deeply. She doesn't cough, but rubs at her throat with one hand, grimacing.

Thor watches her.

She _knew—_

All of his people couldn't have fit into the escape pods at once, but they could have taken trips. They could have been to Midgard months ago instead of this drawn out journey of misery. It's not so much that she _lied, _rather withheld information. But not, apparently, to Heimdall. Heimdall who _also _said _nothing—_

_He thought you knew._

—because no one ever tells him _anything._

Hela squats down next to Brunnhilde and tilts her head dangerously. After a moment, she asks softly, "And you thought that saying nothing would be the best decision you could make for everyone, General?"

Brunnhilde looks up, scowling. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse, but low and dangerous. "I didn't make it for everyone, I made it because of _you."_

"_Me?" _Hela repeats, scoffing. "What do _I _have to do with—"

"Slaughter of the King's Legion in the courtyard a few months ago. The cities you and Odin rampaged. Half of _Gullapasset. _My _entire squadron. _I'm no hero, but I knew better than to bring a psychopathic blood-happy weapon to an innocent planet. I was going to tell them once I killed _you_."

Thor grabs Hela's arm, but his sister doesn't twitch. The information makes him slightly sick. His throat feels hot. "But you didn't know she was onboard for days," Thor whispers. He feels like he's been punched. Brunnhilde, from the start, has been..._open. _As open as she could be. She didn't...he never would have thought she was hiding something like _this._

_It hurts, doesn't it? Being lied to. _Thor shakes Loki's words off from months ago, trying to focus on _now. _"Why didn't you say anything _then?"_

Brunnhilde's jaw tightens. She looks towards the floor for a moment, "I didn't know if I could trust you then. We'd known each other for a few days. I was leaving it as an option of escape if I had to. And then you dumped the Hela Problem down, and I knew if I brought it up, you'd take her, too, and thousands more would end up dead."

"I wouldn't have _killed _the Midgardians—" Hela's anger is simmering. Thor tightens his grip on her arm to keep her put.

"Yes, you would have!" Brunnhilde roars, shoving up. "You don't _have _morals! If it stood in your way, it died. Midgard would have been in your way. You committed _treason. _King Odin didn't banish you because you were ugly. _You slaughtered them! _Your own people. _You were supposed to protect them, _and you _killed _them all for bloody _Frost Giants!"_

Hela jerks, and Thor almost lets her go.

"Enough!" Heimdall barks. All of them flinch, turning to look towards him. His usually stoic features are angry. "You have shouted at each other enough in this journey. If you intend to kill one another, will you simply _be done with it?" _Thor twitches, and he sees Hela and Brunnhilde share a glance. Heimdall releases a sharp breath before saying slower, "This isn't helping the Prince. We are wasting time. Get up."

Thor doesn't move, even though Brunnhilde and Hela begin to straighten. Brunnhilde looks embarrassed, but Hela is just angry.

The Prince.

_Loki._

Thor opens his mouth to ask, but Heimdall answers before he can get a word out. "Odin commanded me to memorize the paths of the jump points for Asgard's safety. It is an interconnected weaving that your mother, among many others, were charting. The path that your brother took leads only to the outer rim with few planets. I know of Thanos. He is Titan by birth. Loki must have known that. Titan is the only world that I can see him retreating to."

Heimdall _memorized _jump points?

His mother was _charting_ them?

"But what about Brunnhilde—" Thor starts.

Heimdall's gaze flickers to Brunnhilde for a moment, before he interrupts. "I found Brunnhilde there, after she intended to flee. After Loki's sedir collapsed. She explained it to me then."

"Val," Bruce sounds horrified. Thor almost startles, having forgotten he was in the room.

Thor feels himself pale. When he returned to look for her after smuggling Hela from the hallway, she wasn't there. When he _did _find her, she looked frazzled and spooked, like she'd just been caught doing something wrong. And she was _angry; _she'd been prepared to kill Hela for Loki. They'd stopped her.

She didn't tell them incase she needed to escape. She hadn't thought it safe, and was going to leave.

_Oh._

"Brunnhilde..." Thor's stomach twists with guilt, and he looks back towards the Valkyrie, words failing him. Brunnhilde catches his eye and shakes her head wordlessly. No talking. Not now. But they _need _to. There's so many things that he needs to address, but he just…can't. The very thought of the weight of those conversations makes him dread them immensely.

Thor closes his eye for a moment, breathing out slowly. He feels frazzled and pulled taut all at once, like he's one moment from snapping completely. He doesn't get that option. He has to pull himself together even though he wants to fall apart. But if he does, who will be there to pick up the pieces? Who will yank him back together and hold it there?

He shakes off the thoughts. _Not now._

"Alright," Thor says slowly, opening his eyes and forcing out a heavy breath. His hand aches, but he ignores it. "_Alright."_

He stands up, biting on his inner cheek. He faces the others, studying them carefully. His sister, Bruce, Eir, Heimdall and Brunnhilde. It's not exactly the war council of kings that Thor remembers from his early youth and the legends of Asgard's kings, but there are few else he would trust to be here. "We need a plan of action. Loki already has hours ahead of us, but we might be able to reach Titan before Thanos does if Loki doesn't have a way to contact him."

"'_We'?_" Eir questions pointedly. She rests her hands on her hips, looking old and tired. Thor feels mildly humiliated that she watched the entire affair between them. His father _hated _it when he and Loki would take their disputes publicly. He and his brother got excellent at acting like they were happy and functioning when all they'd wanted to do was strangle each other. Habits stick.

Eir continues, "My king, you can't run off. _You _are Asgard's king. Asgard needs you. You're the only thing holding them together now. Are you really going to take that away from them?"

The guilt hits him suddenly, because that hadn't even...it hadn't really _occurred _to him. Not properly. The nasty sensation threatens to eat his throat inside out. It's settling in his stomach like a physical, heavy weight. He had assumed that Heimdall would step up. Or the curia regis. That's their _job, _to rule in the king's absence. It's not like Odin never left Asgard.

They're supposed to take regency in the lack of any royal blood. (_It's what should have happened after his failed coronation.)_

Is it...is it terrible that he doesn't really _care? _Loki is more of a priority to him than the throne is. It may not have always been this way, but it is _now. _Thor has lost too much family. His parents. The Warriors Three. Sif. He has no one else but his siblings, and he doesn't want to—_can't—_do this alone. Loki is his brother. His confident. His best friend. The idiot that ran off to sacrifice himself for them.

_Loki can't die. Not for real. Not when Thor can stop it._

Thor turns to her sharply. "And what about my brother? Am I supposed to just stand by and let him get himself killed?"

Isn't his duty first to his family? (_No, _his father's voice whispers in his head, when Thor had asked a similar question so many years ago. _Family is a momentary pleasure. It doesn't last. The sooner you let it go, the better ruler you'll be. Your duty is always first to your people.)_

_(Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition?)_

There's a flash of irritation in Eir's eyes. "Did I say that?"

"I—" Thor stops, pulled from his head. "Well, no. But—"

"I'm just saying that there are more things that you should take into consideration, your majesty. I don't want the prince dead any more than you do." Eir's voice is more gentle, "But this is not Asgard. It is a small gathering of frightened refugees. The last thing they need is the knowledge that their king is running off on some suicide mission."

"No one is going to die!" Thor counters harshly. "I won't let that happen."

Eir's expression goes tight for a moment, looking pained. "You can't prevent everything."

"Everyone _will _walk away from this. I swear on my life." Thor promises. Eir sighs softly at the weight of his words, like she knows the outcome and he doesn't. Thor flexes his fingers, using the flush of pain to ground himself. He shakes his head several times, thinking outloud, "We can send them all to Earth. Boatload by boatload. Then we won't be a sitting target anymore. We can leave the _Statesmen _behind, we won't need it anymore…"

Heimdall tips his head. "And you? What will you do?"

Thor squeezes his fingers in, the skin splitting again. He withholds a wince. "I'll find Loki. There are five escape pods. He has one. I'll take another. Three should be enough to get the Asgardians to Earth within a couple of days. Even from where we are, and using the points, it will still be a couple of hours per journey."

Eir rests a hand against her chin, pressing her lips into her fingers for a moment. "I...suppose that could work. You meet us on Earth?"

"Of course. I'll be there before you finish directing the last Asgardian." Thor agrees, something close to relief blooming in his stomach. He's doing something this time. He's not just going to _watch. _He's going to stop it. Thanos won't lay a finger on his brother. Thor's certain of that. "With Loki."

"And me."

Thor turns to the source of the noise slowly. His sister eyes him, expression hard to read. Thor holds it for several long, heavy moments. There's something earnest about it, and it says more than they ever could have communicated verbally.

He doesn't say anything, thinking this over slowly. This is the woman that has tried to kill everyone in this room at least once. Sometimes more than once. She's dangerous, she's impulsive, and betrayed her people for Laufey. She took his eye.

Hela hesitantly pushes forward. "You don't know if we'll beat this Thanos there. You might need an extra hand. I'm not one for morale, but I can kill things. I can kill _Thanos._"

More silence.

Hela's expression breaks. "Please."

But this is his sister. She helped him learn how to walk. She protected him where she could in their youth. And if he's not going to trust her now, then he never will. All that they've done since Loki saved her from Surtur will have been for nothing.

The moment, as strange as it is, feels oddly _critical._

_This is it._

_Yes or no._

_You don't get another shot._

"Okay," Thor whispers at length. He sees Brunnhilde's eyes close briefly as if disappointed, but he forces his gaze to stay on his sister's pale face. "Okay. We'll go together. You and me, for Loki."

000o000

"What is this I hear about the Prince running of?" Lord Arkenson demands. Thor buries a long groan. He turns to face the council member, stopping the double-check of supplies that he was doing of his bag. All things considered, he was expecting that the curia regis would approach him sooner. They'd been surprisingly quiet when Thor explained what was going on to his people less than an hour ago.

His people, who, despite everything, seemed more excited by the prospect of settling foot on a permanent settlement than dreading the realization that Thor is having them run. They seem to believe this is their salvation. No one fought him. _No one. _Whereas every decision he's made beforehand has been belittled and picked apart, everyone seems to agree that getting to Midgard as quickly as possible is the best decision.

What they don't know is that Thor _knows_ the remaining Avengers are on Earth. If something happens to him and his sister, they'll keep the Aesir safe for him. If…No. He can't think like that. (But Loki was _terrified _of Thanos, why should Thor assume that there's nothing to fear?)

Thor tugs on the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. "I already explained everything you need to know when I spoke to the people."

Sir Borison scoffs. Loudly. Thor's head tilts slightly in question. "No. You explained what the _people _need to hear. We are not the people. We are your confidants, your majesty. You trust us with what you do not dare speak to them. Explain."

He doesn't have time for this. Every second wasted is another that Loki draws closer to Titan. To Thanos. Using nearly the exact words he told his people, he says carefully, "Loki believed we were in danger he left to protect us before we could stop him. He was trying to save Asgard."

Lady Pettidottir's eyes narrow. "Don't play _games _with us, boy! Asgard's very survival is hanging on the line. Why did you not think to consult _us _before sending our people into a flurry of retreat? Oh yes, don't look surprised. We know this is the desperate act of a _child _pretending he can hide from danger if he conceals himself long enough."

Thor feels all the air leave him. He struggles to gain control of his voice, his hands clenching around the bag. "I—I'm not—" he tries.

"You're pretending yourself some sort of brave hero," Lord Arkenson snaps, "but you're not. You're terrified of whatever phantom walked your brother's mind. How do we even know he was _real? _That the prince didn't make it up in his drugged state?"

Because they didn't see the scars.

Thor _did._

"Are you _unhappy _to be leaving the _Statesmen?" _Thor counters, directing the conversation away from their slander. He forces his hands to keep moving, opening the pack and double-checking to make sure he has some of the meager healing equipment. "You're welcome to stay."

_Please do._

"Of course we're not unhappy!" Sir Borison says. "That's beside the point!"

"Then what is it?" Thor turns to face them, shouldering the pack. His hands are trembling, but he refuses to think about how much they've rattled him. _They see right through you._ "You talk too much. I need to leave."

"Your reign has _failed _so miserably because you are not seeking advice. You are making rash decisions. You're a mess, just like your father said you would be." Lord Arkenson sneers, and then gestures to all of them, "_We _rule Asgard. Not just you. You're a figurehead. Now you're running off and it proves our point exactly. You don't care about your crown or the people you're supposed to protect with it."

This has _nothing _to do with Asgard, Thor realizes. It's a series of power plays. It always has been from the start. And this is the type of thing that Loki would know how to deal with. But he's not _here. _He's off getting himself killed.

Thor gapes at them for a moment before snapping his jaw closed and squeezing his eye shut. He's tired of dealing with these old men and women with their rigid, confined thinking. All they want to do is point the blame and bask in their own innocence. It's a wonder that Asgard didn't topple inwards long before Surtur blew it up.

"You're wrong," Thor says quietly, and opens eyes to stare at the familiar seven faces. "Because I may not have wanted the throne at first, but Asgard is _my _responsibility. As are her people. Loki _is_ Asgardian. I'm not leaving him behind _because _keeping him safe is my _duty."_

Lord Arkenson's eyes narrow dangerously. "You're no king. You're an orphan hoping to keep the last threads of his family together. And you leave _Heimdall, _a _Midgardian _and a former drunk in charge of us. This isn't what Asgard needs right now. Give us full regency. You need someone competent to make deals with the mortals. Not..._them."_

Thor's jaw shifts. He stares them all down for a moment, and then shakes his head and looks away for a moment, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know, I've forgotten one of my favorite bits of information regarding a crowning."

Lord Fredilson, silent behind the three upfront, seems to catch his meaning immediately and pales.

Thor's smile splits across his face, and he feels awful for how _relieved _he feels by this. "The creation of a new council. Thank you for your service to your people, my father must have seen more in you than I do. You're dismissed from your positions, active immediately."

A weight seems to flee from his shoulders. He'd forgotten about this until now. Without his mother there to grind the formalities into every waking moment of the ceremony, it hadn't even occurred to him that this can _happen. _It's why the Warriors Three and Sif were on the dais the day of his coronation so long ago. He'd invited them to _his_ curia regis.

All of the seven sputter, Lady Pettidottir gasping "_you would dare!?" _in a high-pitched squeak. The outcry grows louder and angrier, and Thor watches awkwardly from the front, uncertain if he has to stay and see it through to the end, or if he can walk away.

He shifts on his feet, turning slightly to walk towards the escape pods and his waiting sister when he sees the glint of metal in the corner of his eye. His body coils in, but the weapon (weapon?) arcs too quickly for him to anything but stiffly twist back from. His arm is left defenseless and he braces himself for a sharp pain, but it doesn't come.

Confused, he opens his eye—when did he close it?—and looks up.

Oh.

Hela holds the forearm of Lord Arkenson, wielding a small blade. His sister's expression has gone flat. The council member has lost all color in his face and the weapon drops from his hands between them all, clattering on the floor. Thor stares at him, startled. Lord Arkenson just tried to _stab _him? Over a _position? _He looks down at the dagger then up again.

"That," Hela's voice is smooth, "was a mistake."

"How so?" Sir Borison mutters, "You've tried to kill him more than all of us combined."

Hela smiles faintly. "You're more fools than I took you for. You pulled a_ blade_ on _my_ brother." She says it like they killed him and then scattered his bones throughout the woods. Before anyone can say anything, Thor hears the bone of Lord Arkenson's forearm snap. There's an awful moment where Thor can see how the arm bends in the deformity, snapping up and splitting skin. There isn't any blood, but there will be when he gets it treated.

His stomach rolls.

Lord Arkenson releases a scream of agony and Hela shoves him back into the group, unconcerned. "Be thankful I'm on a time limit and Thor would rather you live. That doesn't mean I can't take limbs though." She takes a step forward and all of them scramble back, those helping Lord Arkeson stand practically dragging the man with them.

Thor watches Hela wordlessly, but can't get himself to _stop _her. She's not killing them. But just because they're not dead doesn't make it okay.

"I'll even let you keep your knees." Hela's voice is more jovial, like this is _funny._ "I'm considerate like that."

"Demon!" Sir Borison exclaims. "Awful wretch! _Monster!_"

"Yes, I am." Hela snarls, advancing another step. Her very presence seems to have chased away any bravery remaining in their bodies. They're backing up further, like the very edge of her shadow will cause them permanent harm. "So _stay away from my brother."_

"You belong in a cell." Lady Pettidottir breathes, "Are you _threatening _us?"

Hela _laughs. _"Are you just picking up that now, darling? I can think of fifteen, no—sixteen ways I can mutilate each of you without having to draw a blade. Unless you want that to come to pass, make yourselves scarce."

The curia regis begins to back away, but Lady Pettidottir tries again, looking at him. "Thor—" A dagger Thor didn't see Hela draw swipes at her face, missing by a good foot on purpose. The message is clear enough. The men and women scramble. Once they're out of view, Hela's entire posture seems to...deflate. She turns back to him, expression strangely calm. Relaxed.

Thor bites on his inner cheek. "I don't think that was legal." He mutters. He doesn't think it was ethical either, but...he just...when is…

"Then make it legal." Hela says flatly, leaning down and picking up Lord Arkenson's blade. She holds it for a moment as if testing the weight before holding the weapon out to him hilt first. "You're king, aren't you?"

Thor takes the weapon from her, letting the blade balance between the two of them for a moment. "I am." He agrees. He releases a shaky breath. He doesn't want to address this. What Hela almost did. What _he_ did_. _He just released the last remaining bit of his father's rule. Hela chased them off. Now Asgard can no longer be weighed by the past, focusing forward.

Things that can be discussed later. He inhales, but his lungs feel tight and uncomfortable. He looks to his sister and slides the weapon onto his belt. He shoulders his pack, gathering everything from _now _and stuffing it to the side to think about later.

(There is never a later.)

"Thank you." He says at length. Hela gives a slight dip of her head, saying nothing. "Are you ready?" He asks.

There's something haunted about her gaze, but she nods, offering a grim, but bitter smile. "Always."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the wait. The rest of this story (what I hope is the rest) is written out and completed, so I just need to edit and post. Updates should be more frequent now.
> 
> Life was just...I don't even know what words to use. It was kind of a stretch of "turn up the music and squeeze your eyes really tight to survive." I feel like a deflated balloon left to die on the wayside. Wow. Okay, #DRAMA. But I mean, this IS me. ;) Anyway. I hope to prevent another drop off the face of the Earth for so long in the future. It's been a month. I'm sorry. I really did mean to get this out sooner. :) (I promise I am alive. Still kicking. Still writing. I'll always come back.)
> 
> Love you guys! I hope you're doing better than I am. And if not, have some virtual cookies and hugs. I'm rooting for you all. Thank you for your support, it has and does mean the world to me. You're amazing! =D
> 
> Next chapter: February 7th.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, I know! I'm sorry! Things. Life. You know. Time was hard this week. :D
> 
> Thank you so much for your support-I was blown away by the response last chapter, I'd kind of expected that everyone would have given up on me and put this story to rest. So yeah. Thanks for coming back. :) I can't even really express how much it means to me with words. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to respond to everyone, but I'll try for this chapter. Know that your comments were appreciated deeply, though! =D 
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, Odin's A+ (sarcastically) parenting, and mentions of past torture including a blood eagle. (If you don't know what that is, it's a type Viking execution method that involved snapping the ribcage to cause suffocation. Put lightly and with a lot less blood. Giving it a Google will be gross, so research at your own risk. ;))

* * *

"Do you think that Thanos is something to worry about?" Thor questions, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly. Beside him in the co-pilot's seat, Hela looks up from her hair. She's swept it over one shoulder and has been working on a complex braid for the better part of ten minutes. Thor suspects that it's only in an effort to pass the time; Natasha had a similar bored habit.

Hela hums, returning to her hair. "I'd be stupid if I didn't consider the possibility."

"I'm...not." Thor admits, before adding, "I haven't faced an enemy I haven't survived yet. I know that Loki was terrified, but..."

It's arrogant, and stupid, but _still._

"A living being is collecting the _Infinity Stones._" Hela says, as if that explains everything. "You'd be a fool to think him a common animal poised for slaughter." She shakes her head, "I've held the Space Stone before. I know what that power feels like. To wield _one _was a feat of strength, multiple…?"

Thor sighs, realizing she's right. He knows the lore of the Stones as well as any other Asgardian. How a simple touch in the wrong hands can obliterate the holder in seconds.

"And beside that...You saw his scars, same as I did." Hela says, voice soft. Thor flinches, remembering Loki's desperation and the stark white against blue. She shifts somewhat so she can look at him. "I can think of few creatures willing to condemn another to that. Did you recognize what was down the middle of his back?"

There was _more_ to focus on than the slave brand?

Thor pauses, thinking back even though he doesn't _want _to. There were burns, whip lashes, stitching, a few deep stabs, the brand...there _was _the ugly, twisted thing down the middle of Loki's spine, something that looked like something had tried to sprout out, clawing its way through the skin. But no...he didn't recognize it.

He gives a mute shake of his head. Hela sighs, releasing her lower lip as if disappointed, but expecting as much. She ties her hair and leans forward, resting her hands on her elbows. "It was the scars from a blood eagle."

Thor feels all color drain from his face.

"Oh, Norns." He whispers, sick. Thanos condemned his _little brother _to that?

Because of their biology, Loki wouldn't have been killed by it, just suffered in a limbo between life and death. It's the punishment, legally, that Asgard gave to fratricide before a beheading three days later. (He's only seen Odin sentence two men to it. One in his childhood, the other in his early youth. He remembers that, after the latter, he'd found Loki in the washroom throwing up and sobbing. The very distinct thought crossed his mind in that moment, "_I don't know if I have the stomach for this" _and he'd joined his brother on the floor, wordless.

His father took him hunting three days later. Thor couldn't kill anything.)

And someone did _that _to Loki. It's not a fate he thinks he could condemn anyone to. Death is meant to be swift and painless. Not…

Not _that._

"..._What?" _The word sounds strangled.

Hela looks more uncomfortable than she did before as she explains with her eyes softly closed, "I know...I know the knife work it takes to get that pattern. Stop gawking at me like that. What? Did you think I held the position of his executioner because it make me sound intimidating? No. I sailed down a river of blood for Odin's approval, but when I arrived at the shore there was nothing there for me but his disappointment. My hands are not clean, brother."

He swallows along his suddenly dry throat. "How many?"

"Four." Hela says after a hesitation. "I performed four."

Thor's stomach rolls, thinking of Loki's sobbing and the horror he felt as he saw bones snap.

_I don't know if I have the stomach for this._

He breathes out slowly, even though he thinks he might be sick. Loki _lived _through that. His brother was alone when it happened. There was no one there to patch up his ribs and hold him until he could breathe properly again. No one but his torturers.

Oh Norns. Thor feels hands clench by his knees. How soon to New York did that _happen? _Thor remembers throwing Loki to the ground on that cliffside, and Loki grabbing at his back and hobbling around like Thor had sprained it. Thor had been too angry to care. He'd merely continued to shout and wave Mjolnir around like it was going to fix everything.

Thor lifts his gaze slowly to her face. It's blank, like a clean sheet of paper, awaiting the stains of ink.

"You...you would have done anything for him." Thor realizes.

Like Loki.

_Like me._

"I was a child." Hela says slowly, obviously unsure what to say. "I had no friends. No family. I knew no other way to earn his love. I would have torn my beating heart from my chest if it meant I could gain a small glimpse of his approval."

Earn his—

A sadness strikes him deeply and he looks up to her, reaching out a hand to rest on top of hers. Her fingers twitch, but she looks up at him without moving her hand.

(_I could have done it, Father!)_

_(I hope someday I will make you proud.)_

Does Odin even know how deeply he destroyed them? Does he care? Does it bother him one iota in Helheim what he _did? _Thor remembers confessing nearly the exact same thing as Hela just did to Jane. Remembers the slight tilt of her head the astrophysicist did, the one she only made when faced with a hard problem she didn't know how to solve.

"Thor," he remembers her reaching out for him, expression impossibly sad. "Thor, babe, you don't have to _earn _love."

Remembers stopping, his world crumbling as if she'd just said something impossible. "I...what?" He'd asked. He hadn't understood then. Sometimes he still doesn't now. He knew, _always knew _that with his father, he had to. He had to make Odin proud to gain a glimpse of affection. Had to do so many things before his father would give him that approving nod.

_(I'm not as strong as you.)_

_(I'll prove to Father that I am a worthy son.)_

"Hela," he says her name softly, and gives her hand a quick squeeze. In and echo of the words that toppled him, he whispers, "you don't have to earn love. That's not what family is."

Hela stares at him, her lips slowly parting. A little noise slips out of her throat and she stares at him. Stares and stares and stares until she says, "I don't...understand."

He grips her hand harder. "Someday you will." He promises. "I'll prove it to you."

Because he's her brother. She's his sister. And the scars that Odin left written all over them will not define their future. Not anymore.

000o000

("Tell me who did this." Amma's voice is heavy. Angry. It's so different than the other tones of her soft whispers and gentle baritone. He clings to her skirts desperately, wanting to hide, but can't fight his desire to peak around the soft blue fabric to stare into the washroom.

Ela is sobbing, fists clenched around the sink. She looks bony, the pale skin not hidden beneath her white clothing wrapped tight around muscle. Ela spits blood into the sink.

"_Why?_" Ela's voice is thick. Wrong. "What will you do?"

"What I have to." Amma's says evenly. Ela lifts up a trembling hand, her left, and slowly lowers the sleeve to her elbow. The pale skin doesn't hide the deformity settled in her forearm. It's dark, ugly, and _wrong._

Amma swears darkly, and he releases a slight noise of panic. He grips Amma's skirts tighter, like it will save him from having to look.

Ela breaks down again, crumbling. Screaming. She slams her fist down onto the sink and it shatters into a thousand, broken pieces. The porcelain has split into glass, gray and smoking. The charred pieces land at their feet and he looks down into one. His face looks back at him, but it's blurred with his tears.

"I can't feel it!" Ela shouts, slamming her fist against the wall. "I _CAN'T _FEEL IT! _Why do I feel nothing!?"_

"Hela," Amma's voice has gained the same coolness as before. She takes a step forward. "Hela, you need to calm down."

"Stop!" Ela shouts, backing up. "They didn't fix me yet. I'm still broken. I'm killing everything without meaning to. I have to go back. I have to…" she collapses to the floor, splayed out like a broken doll and tears swallow her voice. He grabs at Amma tighter, frightened. A fresh wave of sobs washes through Ela.

Amma remains where she is, though he can tell it's with reluctance. "Daughter," her voice is steady, "I will handle them. You aren't going back. I swear on my life."

"Your word means nothing!" Ela grabs a chunk of the broken sink, seemingly oblivious to the fact that water is spurting out from the broken pipe around them. She hurls it towards them, and Amma sweeps him behind her easily, dodging the blast. The world goes dark as her skirts block his vision for a moment.

He trembles.

"You're a liar, just like he is! _I hate you!_ I hate your lies, your stupid reassurances, your ugly child, how you stand by and _let it happen, _you—"

"I am doing everything I can to keep this family together!" Amma interrupts, angry. "I'm trying, I promise."

Another piece of the sink barely misses Amma's head.

"Your _love_ fixes _nothing. _It never has! Family is a weak corruption. A miserable tie of genetics that I'm stuck with!" Another piece scrapes against the ground as Ela grabs for it, and Amma doesn't dodge in time. He lets out a yell when it slams into her face and jumps out from behind her skirts in front of Amma.

Ela wouldn't hurt him.

Ela's entire body has frozen. Her face drained of remaining color. She looks from him to Amma several times before her expression darkens again. "You brought him _here!?" _Now she's screeching. "You idiotic woman!" Ela lurches up to her feet and Amma grabs at his shoulder. "Have you no sense? _You know what they did to me!"_

"Hela," Amma tries, but Ela isn't listening.

Ela curses violently. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to _kill _all of you!" Standing there, dressed in a blood-stained white with her hair missing chunks and cropped barely past her chin, she doesn't look like his sister. She looks deranged. He believes every word. He cries out, and Amma shoves him away from the exit as Ela crosses her hands over her chest forming an "x" and snaps two swords out.

"Thor, go find your father." Amma says quickly, shoving him.

He remains put stubbornly. "Amma—" he whispers. He wants to tell her that he's frightened. That he doesn't understand why Ela is acting so funny. But the words get caught in his throat and won't come out.

"_Go!" _Amma demands, and draws a sword from her hip bringing it up to defend against Ela's weapons when they clash together. Amma shoves back against the swords, pushing Ela back into the washroom.

He remains where he is, frozen.

_I am afraid. I am afraid of Ela._)

Fingers snap in front of his face and Thor jerks, slamming into the present with a jolt. He looks up suddenly, seeing Hela leaning forward, hand raised in front of his face. She's staring at him with one eyebrow raised in slight annoyance, the other carefully avoiding the game pieces.

It's a paper version of Checkers, a game that baffled him for days when Darcy tried to explain it to him. Once he grasped the concept, he was unbeatable to all but Clint, but that's because Clint cheats at everything.

"It's your turn." Hela says flatly, still poised gracefully over the board. "Are you going to take it?"

"Um." Thor looks down at the ground, then up at her, then down at the ground again. He's sitting cross legged, the metal plating he's seated on humming beneath him from the pod's rattling. They're in the middle of a lapse between jump points, waiting for a little over a fourth of the suggested time before they continue the journey to Titan.

They only have one jump left.

To say that he's anxious would be an understatement.

"Hey," Hela's voice cuts through the fog again. "Are you with me?"

"Yes." The sound of his voice is strange. It's like he has his hands pinched over his ears. "I'm…" he starts to repeat, but his mind slips back somewhat and he hears the ghosting jerk of a blade being shoved through his mother's stomach.

("_I love you my sons.")_

His hand slams down on the papers, and then slides, sending most on his side of the board scattering. Hela makes an indignant noise, clearly frustrated. "Hey!"

Thor stumbles over himself, looking at the "board." He found some colored tape in the overhead storage and placed it on the floor when Hela finally agreed to play with him after half an hour of his prodding. He needed a distraction beyond the low humming of the engine. "Sorry." His voice still sounds funny. "Sorry. I wasn't looking."

What did she say? What did _he _say? What triggered the memory? Unless he's sleeping, they don't come in on their own. He tries to cast his mind back, but finds only a jumbled mess. This memory...this one is different than the others. Sharper. _Harder. _The others have been blurred, if somewhat distressing, but not enough to make him want to be sick. He hadn't remembered his mother in anything. He wasn't even sure if Frigga and Hela knew each other, but this is evidence enough.

Hela destroyed a bathroom without breaking a sweat. Her knuckle had only to rap against it and then it became little more than chunky dust. So it's not just life she can destroy without making contact.

_Ela. _Did he really used to call her that? What did they _have _before Odin banished her? Did she hate him then as she did when she was released?

"I was winning," Hela says, clearly frustrated with his mistake and swipes all the pieces together in the middle of the board. He watches her as if on autopilot as she resets it. "Again. I go first this time."

He blinks, and stares at her. Hela looks...content. Not happy, but not angry or broken. There's something soft about her features this way, but he knows it won't last. They'll enter the last jump for Titan, and then it will all be over. The small bit of _okay _will have reached its conclusion until they find Loki again.

And then it's to Midgard and their hopelessly complex politics. This, in all honesty, is probably the breath between storms. He wants to focus on this game and winning. He wants to leave the weight of his thoughts behind for a few minutes where they won't haunt him. Wants to capture this small moment, because he's afraid that there won't be many more.

But he can't shake how jittery he feels. How _sick. _His limbs are rigid and his mouth tastes like ash. Hela has the game reset and is looking up at him pointedly, obviously expecting him to join her on the floor again. But he thinks if he lets go of the wall he's going to topple. A low headache is thrumming in the back of his mind, as it always does when he remembers something with her.

Hela's eyes are narrowing. "You look pale. Are you dying?"

"Ela." Thor croaks in response. Hela's entire posture stiffens, her hands stilling over the game board and face going white. For a moment, he thinks that she's going to be sick or hit something, but all she does is lift her dark blue eyes to his and exhale shakily.

"What did you just say?"

"Ela," he repeats. A forgotten name of a forgotten time. His mouth feels dry. "That's what I used to call you when I was younger, isn't it?"

She makes no attempt at a response, which he takes as a yes.

He pushes forward, suddenly desperate. "You knew my mother. Frigga. You attacked her after..." he doesn't know what, "they did something to you. You threw chunks of the sink at us."

Hela's lips part, but it takes some effort for her to get any syllables out. "Yes."

"You tried to kill her."

"Yes."

"What happened?" Thor runs a hand through his hair, moving as if tugged by strings so he sits down in front of her. The Checkers game sits between them, motionless. It's the first time it has been for the better part of four hours. They've been here for fifteen, but neither one of them could settle down enough to sleep, and someone needs to guide the ship in and out of the jump points. "Why would you...?"

Hela pulls her eyes away from him at last. "Odin left for Jotunheim that day." She says, detached, "He had the sedirmasters release me so he could take me with him. Frigga didn't approve."

His mother's name dropping from Hela's lips sounds funny. It's not exactly scathing, but there's no fondness to it.

Thor remembers how awful Hela looked in that room and thinks he might be sick. His father couldn't have dragged her out into a war looking like _that. _She needed bedrest. A team of healers and food. Odin wouldn't...but Thor knows, deep in a coiled part of his stomach that never seems to stop being fed, that Odin _would _have. He _has. _Thor may have enhanced healing, but that doesn't mean he wasn't shipped off to battle with the insistence it was only a minor wound and it would be fine.

Once, Sif nearly had to sever Loki's leg because it had gotten infected after he broke it and their father wouldn't let Loki see the healers.

He's...not the man Thor once thought he was. (And it _hurts, _so much, to _know _this.) He'd wanted Odin to be all-knowing. To be the _Allfather, _but instead he was nothing but a tyrant who abused his power...and _them_. The extent of damage Odin did he doubts the once-king cares much for. If he had, he would have changed after Hela.

_See? You never knew him. Not at his best._

But Odin was a stagnant creature.

Thor looks up at her. "I..." Norns, he doesn't know what to _say. _"I-I don't..."

Thankfully, the fates must have been in a merciful mood, because it's at that moment that the computer beeps to let them know they're close the next and final jump point. Both he and his sister get to their feet without another word, moving towards the front. They leave the conversation behind them, even though they probably shouldn't, and focus on the future. Loki. Titan. Now. Here. It—

_(Hela said "queen me", not "king me." It's why he slipped.)_

000o000

They make it to the world within ten standard minutes. The atmosphere is dark and clouded, leaving the impression that the entire world is being bathed in a sandstorm. Thor's seen worse. He's _been _in worse, but it still makes him strangely wary to see. A sense of foreboding that crawls through his veins until it corrupts every aspect of him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, praying to whatever higher power—whether it be the Norns or something else—that this sudden dread has nothing to do with Loki's death.

He can't do this a third time. What he's already had to live through was enough.

He opens his eyes, and breathes into the warm air of the pod, guiding the ship down to Titan and through the thick, musty air.

Titan is...Thor doesn't know. Dirtier than he thought it would be? It's certainly not the spiraling towers of Asgard, or the breathtaking mountainsides of Alfheim. It's a shabby, small world, rundown and broken. There are corpses turned to bone and dust scattered across the fields, buildings in need of repair stretching through the abandoned cities.

The air holds a thick grayish tinge that blocks the vizier, like the very earth itself has become a fine powder the most delicate of winds can kick up. Thankfully, it's not bad enough to be much of a hindrance to the landing.

Thor uses the scanners to do a quick check of lifeforms—trying to determine where to land. They don't have time to search an entire _planet—_and is surprised to see there's a little more than twenty present. He really only expected one or two. Maybe the odd wildlife and Loki. Perhaps the planet is not as beyond recovery as he was first thinking, or was told in his youth.

"There's smoke over there," Hela says before they land, her finger pointing to the arching, thick trail of it. "Loki?"

It's not a wispy thing of a lone traveler. It's the thick billows of a city aflame. The entire planet is desolate so he has his doubts that it's a community gathered together for a celebration. His lips press together, but he parts them with effort to answer, "Maybe." Thor agrees, steering the pod in that direction. "It looks too big to be a campfire."

"Maybe he crashed." Hela suggests flatly, eyes still on the smoke.

Given Loki's piloting skills, Thor wouldn't be surprised. His brother is a _terrible_ pilot; always has been. He crashes anything he flies more often than not, but given that Loki hates heights, it's not much of a surprise. Putting him inside a flying contraption and expecting him to be in charge was probably one of the worst things that High Commander Tyr ever did. But he had to, because everyone in the army is required to know how to pilot.

"Maybe _something _did." Thor mutters. It could have been Thanos for all they know. Maybe he's a good torturer, but a worse pilot than their brother. They lapse into silence, the humming of the pod the only noise that accompanies them. Thor lands the pod about a mile from the smoke, shutting down the engines. He lets his hands linger on the controls, breathing out stiffly.

Loki, they can only hope and pray, is here and alive.

But remaining here, hiding in the dark like a coward, will not help him answer any of his questions. Thor glances at his sister before getting up to his feet and slamming a hand down on the button to lower the ramp. Daylight splits across the back, and Thor moves towards it, hand on his sword hilt.

He hears his sister get up behind him. She steps into pace with him once he's exited the pod, and they take the first few steps away from the ship together.

Thor breathes in the air and coughs sharply, an acidic tang sticking to the insides of his mouth. He wipes at his lips when a slight residue remains and looks at his fingers. Sand, possibly dirt. The air is clouded with it. This world has not seen care for an age.

He sees Hela wipe at her lips with the back of her hand and sigh, resigned. "Great." She mutters.

"Try not to breathe." Thor suggests without much cheer. "At least then we can both walk away without our lungs being half dirt."

She shoots him a look of annoyance and presses forward, obviously intent on finding the source of the smoke. Thor smirks lightly to himself, amused, and then sobers. This isn't any time for _jokes. _Their brother could be out there waiting to get himself killed and it's their _duty _to go drag his sorry butt back to the pod and keep him from dying.

His brother's resilient stubbornness will never cease to amaze Thor. Even dying, with the threat of complete brain death weighing over his head like rainwater, Loki still did _this. _Eir had not expected him to survive, and now his brother gallivants around, waiting for something else to come by and deal the death blow.

He hates the lack of self preservation that haunts his sibling. It's going to get him permanently killed. Maybe it already has.

He and Hela trek the surface of Titan for the better part of thirty minutes before they find the source of the smoke. There isn't a lot of wind beyond a few gusts, so the thick waves of ash and toxic air don't blow into their faces. But that's really the _last _concern Thor has.

It is, as Hela suspected, a ship. But not a pod from the _Statesmen. _Thor knows this both instinctively and by the design of the flaming mass of metal. It's too rounded. Thor can't get the exact configuration and can only guess at what it looked like at its prime. The ship appears to have snapped several times because there's scattered debris ranging from the crash sight to well behind it.

He and his sister stand at the outcropping above the debris and Thor glances at her for a moment before saying, "I'm not having whoever piloted that take us to Midgard."

He sees her repress the effort to roll her eyes, but she releases the slightest huff of amusement. Thor smirks to himself before tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "We should check for survivors."

Hela shakes her head, waving a hand. "We don't have time to play hero. Our brother takes precedence."

"I know, but if there _are _survivors to the crash, then they might have seen him," Thor argues before she can move away. "Titan isn't exactly the trading hub of the universe. Hardly anyone comes here anymore. I don't think it's a coincidence that Loki left for this world and suddenly there's more people gathering."

Hela eyes him. "You think whoever crashed works for Thanos?"

Thor shakes his head. "I don't know what I think, but maybe. Maybe they're just unlucky bandits, but they've seen him anyway. We won't know unless we ask."

Hela sighs heavily and sweeps her braid over her shoulder. "Fine. We'll do this first."

They trek through the gorge the crashing ship made into the dirt towards the flaming remains. Not everything is on fire, but it's sputtering enough and coughing that the crash couldn't have happened more than two hours ago at most. Thor would guess an hour, going by how the dirt still hasn't quite settled yet.

But the gravity of this planet isn't quite right. It's like it was tipped off its axis a few degrees. Maybe that was why the entire world is empty. Perhaps it's just the feeling that ghosts are watching, waiting, and casting silent judgement on the longer someone remains here. This entire landmass feels _haunted, _and Thor's never exactly been superstitious.

As they come close enough to touch the remains, Hela draws a sword and takes it up with both hands. Thor follows suit, pulling his weapon from its sheath and suddenly longing for Mjonlir's familiar weight. The oddity of this situation strikes him abruptly, and he glances at his sibling. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be on a quest to rescue his _dead _brother with his secret sister who destroyed his hammer and was inadvertently responsible for his planet's destruction, he would have laughed.

But this is his reality now.

The two of them advance carefully, but steadily, weapons raised. By way of unspoken agreement, they're going to circle the ship first. If there isn't anyone out here, Thor will attempt to go inside, but he doesn't think that Hela would be keen on joining him. Playing fire rescue doesn't really strike Thor as something she would do.

(But how well does he know her?

Well enough that when she drew her weapon he didn't flinch this time. That has to count for _something, _doesn't it?)

As they circle around the rear and still see no one, Thor blows out a tight breath. He doesn't know if it's of relief or frustration, but it escapes him all the same. The smoke swallowing the surrounding area makes it hard to breathe and see anything, making both of them on edge. The air is filled with silence save the flames and the creaking of metal or the hiss of electricity. That's another thing about Titan that just seems _wrong. _It's quiet. As if the very earth has gone mute with despondency.

It's the better part of another five minutes, and rounding around the east side of the crash zone when there's a loud crash behind them. Both he and his sister whirl, weapons at the ready and poised to attack—absolutely nothing. There's only a thick sheet of metal laying in the dirt behind them now, and a quick glance upwards shows that it was part of the outer casing.

The weird thing about it though is that there's some sort of thin clear-white string attached to the metal, almost as if it was _yanked _instead of fell.

Well. Looks like they found the living after all. His shoulders tense up, preparing for a fight when he feels the sudden, but thick presence of something _powerful _smash into his senses. It almost makes him want to be sick with the energy surge.

A quick glance at his sister shows that she's drawn the same conclusion. Her eyes are rapidly scanning the area for the survivors, but nothing pops out. The smoke offers a type of screen though, and hinders visibility considerably.

There's another creaking noise, let metal moving, and Thor raises his sword up higher. He calls on the core of energy for lightning and tastes the familiar ozone.

"If you shock me again, I will murder you." Hela says under her breath, raising her sword into the smoke like she can cut through it.

He snorts, but wonders suddenly what it had _felt _like when he threw her from the balcony with the lightning bolt. The fall wouldn't have killed her—a few broken bones at _least—_but he doubts that it was exactly a pleasant experience. He hadn't really thought about it before and wonders suddenly if he should have.

There's a sound, almost like water dribbling from a fountain and Hela slips to his six. Thor sees the briefest flare of bright energy before a glowing whip-like _thing _reaches through the fog and grabs at his sword. The suddenness of it startles him and his grip slips for the briefest moment, but it's all the whip needs. With a quick jerk, the sword is yanked from his hands.

Thor swears under his breath in his native tongue.

The sound of Hela drawing a weapon pulses through the air and she shoves the hilt of something—an axe—into his hands. She says nothing, but Thor gratefully takes the weighted weapon with two hands. The balance of it throws him for a moment, too used to the sword and the weight being distributed instead of at the top, but he doesn't really have time to complain.

Another one of the golden-amber strips whips through the air with a cackle and Hela's blade swipes for it, only to have the end wrap around her weapon. Hela's teeth grit, but she pulls backwards sharply and Thor hears something stumble inside the smoke. The two weapons pull on each other in an awkward sort of tug of war before Hela's muscles coil and she releases the weapon, sending it back towards their attacker.

There's a _thwack _and something hisses in pain.

Hela smirks faintly, summoning a set of swords. She looks at him once and he nods, both of them preparing to move into the smoke and deal with the survivor, but Thor stops, his head whipping up at a noise. He _knows _that noise. Knows it like the sound of his own breath or his heartbeat. But that doesn't make any sense because _how _could it be _here _of all places when—

A flare of blue light whips through the air and Thor barely has time to shout a warning and tackle Hela to the earth before something like a blaster bolt shoots over their heads. Thor rolls off of her, snapping his weapon into attention.

This can't be happening. He's hallucinating.

More metal movements and a _twhip _sound. Hela's arm raises to protect her face from the same clear-white fluid, but it sticks to her vambrace. Something _yanks _on the other end and Hela is pulled into the smoke with a startled sound. Thor makes to go after her, but something boldly slams into his chest and he's tackled to the earth with a grunt. He axe goes flying out of his hands, landing somewhere in the smoke; but even without it, he's not powerless. He lets the core of electricity within him burn. His vision heights, senses going into overdrive as he prepares to utilize the power and—

Thor stops.

He and his attacker stare at each other in flabbergasted stillness for a long moment as the sounds of battle briefly engage behind them. Hela. But he can't focus on that. Not _now. _His attacker hobbles off of him, the faceplate retracting to the neck with some sort of tech almost like magic.

"Thor?" Tony croaks.

"Stark." Thor's voice is breathless.

He and his teammate eye each other for a long few seconds. Tony pulls his hands back, the repulsors—and their light—powering down. The familiar noise makes him stare long and hard for a second, because _that _is what distracted him. The repulsors, a noise he hasn't heard in well over a year. In the dimming light, Thor makes out the features of his teammate as best he can. He has a cut down the side of his face that's bleeding sluggishly, blood leaking to his chin and staining his nose. His brown hair is tousled and his facial hair unkempt. There are dark rings beneath his eyes as if he hasn't slept in a few days and his face holds a waxy, hungry air. He looks awful, but the familiarity makes Thor's throat go hot with tears of relief.

"You're missing an eye." Tony states blankly. Thor's hand moves subconsciously to the eyepatch. Even after all this time, it's still so odd to him that it's _there. _He doesn't know whether to laugh or scream.

How is Tony on _Titan? _Is this ship _Earth's? _The technology seems far too advanced for their resources. Why is he here? He's supposed to be on Earth, _safe,_ not running around the universe. Tony runs a hand through his hair, obviously agitated and uncertain what to do with the information they've both just gained.

Thor shoves up onto one elbow, lips splitting to ask a question before he sees a blur of silver. "Tony—!" Thor shouts in warning, scrambling to his feet, but his warning comes too late. Tony manages to pull away, but Hela's weapon still slams into the shoulder of the armor and cuts through the metal like it's butter.

Tony lets out a yell of pain, yanking backwards and lifting his other hand, repulser firing. Hela dodges the blast without seeming to think, weapon slashing for Tony's chest again. He draws back, his armor forming a brief shield on his left hand that Hela makes quick work of. A sweep of her sword has it sliced in half and Thor sees Tony glance up once, his face an open book of surprise.

"Hela!" Thor shouts, managing to gain his balance again. "Stop!"

"You know her!?" Tony calls as he dodges another swipe that scrapes at his chestplate. Hela stops her assault suddenly, weapons faltering. She looks back at him in confusion, but apparently trusts his judgement enough to believe his word.

"Mr. Stark!?" A young voice shouts and a figure comes bursting out of the smoke. He's shaky and sweaty, cheeks flushed like he's running a high-grade fever. Thor doesn't know who he is, but there's a spider plastered on the front of the suit and it reminds him of Natasha. The youth immediately goes to Tony's side, looking at the destruction in the Iron Man suit with wide eyes. He then glances towards Hela with something close to fear.

Thor manages to stagger his way beside his sibling as another man steps out of the smoke to stand on Tony's other side. Thor struggles to keep his jaw from openly falling. Midgard's wizard. Strange or something, wasn't it? He's sporting more than a dozen puncture marks, blood staining his blue robes. His sentient cape is flaring around him like it's some sort of shield between Thor and Hela.

"Are you okay?" The youth continues to Tony, almost frantic. "I can smell blood."

"What happened to _staying back?" _Tony demands of him sharply, only sparing a quick glance. The unknown Midgardian's jaw tightens slightly, as if with frustration. An argument is brewing and the Wizard rests a hand on Tony's shoulder, offering a silent shake of his head.

_Not now._

Hela's tense posture suddenly leeches away and she looks at him and then the Midgardians a few times before her lips part, "You _know _them?"

Thor nods. The sound of his sister's voice appears to draw the attention of the others because they look up. Tony glances at Thor for a brief moment and then to Hela, shifting somewhat in front of the youth. The action is subtle enough that if Thor wasn't drinking in every familiar movement like a drowning man, he wouldn't have noticed it. "Yeah, I was wondering the same thing about you, Bellatrix."

Hela glances at Thor for help, obviously confused.

Thor bites harder on his inner cheek. It feels raw and mangled now. He shakes his head, deciding that explaining the concept of _Harry Potter _to her isn't worth the time or effort it would take. Thor clears his throat, trying to clear his head, and gestures towards the group. "Sort of."

He scans over the group and then realizes that the Wizard is eyeing his sister as though she's carrying a plague. His eyes are blown wide and his posture has stiffened, but not with fear, but _recognition. _Thor's eyebrows furrow with confusion.

"Yeah. I guess introductions are in order." Tony mutters and gestures towards the youth and then the Wizard. "Spider-Man, Dr. Strange." He then points at himself, "Tony Stark."

_Spider-Man_? Really?

"Hello." Spider-Man mutters, face contorting. His hand presses against his stomach suddenly, and Thor glances to see that the suit he's wearing is broken there. Is he injured? What happened? How long have they been here? How did they get on the ship?

"It's 'Hela'." Hela sneers.

"I know." Dr. Strange says flatly and Hela's expression flares with surprise and she glances once at Thor and then back to the wizard. Her eyes are thinned with suspicion.

"...How?" she questions carefully. It's a different phrasing than Thor would have done. His would have been something more along the lines of "_she's been banished for more than a millennia and wiped from everyone's heads and you can't be more than forty Midgardian standard years so how did you know about my secret murderous sister and I didn't?"_

Dr. Strange and Tony share a look before Tony sighs heavily. "We need to talk." He says at length and then turns to Spider-Man. "And you are going to sit still before you rip open something else."

"I feel fine." Spider-Man argues hastily despite all evidence to the contrary. "Really, Mr. Stark, it doesn't even hurt anymore. We should...we should probably get your arm wrapped. Or stop the bleeding. Or whatever it is you're supposed to do when something's cut."

"Wait," Hela demands, shaking her head and taking a step forward. Her posture is tight and she lifts a finger to gesture towards Dr. Strange's chest, where the faintest surge of power is radiating. "_Why _are you holding an Infinity Stone?" Dr. Strange glances down at the Stone and then up at her again, obviously surprised that she recognized it. Thor's not surprised. He knew what it was the moment he stepped inside the wizard's house. It just...hadn't been reliant to everything else going on, so he didn't mention it.

"Are you working for Thanos?" Hela demands.

Thor almost laughs at the absurdity of that statement. He doubts that anyone on Earth has even _heard _the name before. He shakes his head and grabs her shoulder. "Hela," he says tightly. She ignores him, staring the wizard down like she can burn a hole through his skull.

Dr. Strange shakes his head softly. "No." He sighs heavily, like the fate of the universe weighs on his shoulders alone. "We need to talk. But out of this smoke." He glances at Tony and Spider-Man, then turns to them. "And somewhere with medical supplies."

Thor thinks of the pod and bites down hard on his inner cheek. At length he says, "I know a place. C'mon."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: February 14th, 21st or sometime inbetween that.
> 
> Kind of out of curiosity, just 'cause I'm a music nerd, do you guys have any songs that you associate with our Odin-kid trio? Like things you would name as their "theme"?
> 
> ***(Feb 23, 2020: Update pushed back until further notice. Thanks for your patience.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated, or on time) Leap Day! We are existing inside of carried minutes right now. Because we ignore the Earth's rotation of 365 1/4 days around the sun in favor of adding one day every four years to make up for it. Food for thought.
> 
> That aside, now I really AM late. Sorry. Guess who finished the story and then decided they hated the ending so is now re-writing it? Me. Yup. So here we are. I cannot begin to tell you how many different endings this fic has. I am 100% Done.
> 
> Sorry for dropping off the face of the earth again. I'm getting alarmingly good at that.
> 
> Thank you for your support! Really. Nothing is mood booster like comments and follows/favs. Lots of hugs from me to you in gratitude. ;)
> 
> Warnings: None.

* * *

They compare notes.

Dr. Strange was nearly assassinated in the middle of the night by some of Thanos's lackeys, but escaped to the streets with the assistance of a man called Wong. The fight caught the attention of Spider-Man who was on some sort of "patrol" at the time and offered to help, who then called Tony which resulted in all of them—save Wong—eventually being dragged up to space together. They managed to over power their captor and were attempting to figure out a way home when Thor and Hela arrived.

Previously, the three of them had been stuck on the boat for a little over twelve hours.

Now they're here.

And they have no plan for the future.

What are they supposed to do? How do they stop someone like Thanos? They don't even know how many Stones—if any—that the Titan has. What if he has all others and the only one in the way is Time? Or Space? Loki didn't physically have the Stone _on_ him. That means it must have been in his cache, but in order to take that, Thanos would have to kill Loki first.

If..._when _they run into Thanos, Thor guesses that will be an indicator of his little brother's well-being. If the Titan has Space then Thor will have to assume the worst. And he doesn't _want_ to assume the worst. He wants Loki to be fine.

But when does he get what he wants?

(Since when does he get to keep his family alive?)

"So." Tony's voice draws him back to the present and Thor has to fumble with the needle to stop himself from accidentally stabbing his teammate in the shoulder. His fingers manage to grasp the thin piece of metal before he jabs it inside the injury and he releases a tight breath. He can see that Tony's gaze is focused forward, even if his thoughts are here.

Forward, on the landing ramp, where Tony's ward is currently seated. He's removed his shirt, revealing the thick blotches of ugly black and blue skin that's across the pale skin like a sick sort of paint. Even from where Thor is standing at the back of the escape pod, he can see how grim Hela's expression is as she and Strange fuss over the youth. Spider-Man keeps trying to wave them off, but isn't having much success. From where he and Tony are seated, they aren't close enough to hear the conversation very well beyond a few words.

Thor clears his throat. "So...?" he pushes.

Tony glances at him once before returning it to the youth. He gestures vaguely with the hand Thor isn't stitching the shoulder back together of. "Morgana le Fay over there. How do you know her again? She has a strong swing. Almost took off my arm."

Thor then realizes that, despite having gone through the entire—but brief—accounting of Asgard's destruction, he didn't mention once _who _was doing the conquering, murdering and who he and Loki were trying to stop. Subconsciously, Thor was trying to...what? Keep Hela from the Avenger's ire? They'll learn at some point.

But...not now.

For now, he needs them to trust each other, and Thor's journey to scraping himself together enough to put faith in his sister wasn't a short one. He _wants _them to find Loki and stop Thanos. Then he can reveal all the details. Maybe. It's...it feels like a raw wound. One that everyone can see, but Thor refuses to acknowledge _how _it came into being.

"It's not _that_ deep." Thor grumbles to Tony's words, pushing the needle against the pinched, angry skin again. Tony, for his credit, doesn't even wince. The wound is probably painful enough that he can't really feel a difference. That, or the numbing cream that Eir shoved onto them before they left that Thor smeared all over the area is strong enough that Tony can't even feel past his collar bone anymore.

"Still." Tony waits.

Thor remains quiet. And Tony waits some more.

Finally, Thor releases an annoyed breath and yanks on the thread a little tighter than he needs to. "Fine. She's…" Thor doesn't even know where to _begin. _He doesn't...he hadn't even thought about what he was going to say when he got to Earth. Just pop by and shake hands with U.N. officials before smiling and gesturing to the side to Loki and Hela and assuring that, _Oh, yes, no worries. One of them is actually insane and the other is a sociopath. Arguably, they're both that. No worries. I have this completely under control._

And then add: _A__nd this is my secret sister, Hela._

Right.

"Please tell me you're not courting. Or whatever it is you do in Rainbow Bridge-land." Tony says suddenly. "Because the last thing we need right now is a romance."

Thor makes a gagging noise, smacking Tony lightly on the back of the head. "_No. _Disgusting. She's my _sister_." And even if that wasn't the case, Thor's heart will forever belong to Jane, even if she doesn't...Thor cuts off the dark thoughts.

Tony stops. He seems to exhale once before looking up at Thor with wide eyes. In almost any other circumstance it might have been comical, but Thor is less from jovial right now. Tony's mouth opens twice before he says, flatly, "Your sister."

"Yes." Thor agrees, then adds with a slight tilt of his head. "Half-sister, technically. Her mother died when she was young." At least, Thor's assuming. He and Hela haven't really ever discussed her birth mother. Thor doesn't even know her name. Until Ragnarok, he wasn't even aware Frigga wasn't Odin's first wife.

"Okay." Tony says, like this is normal when every part of him is practically screaming confusion. Tony shifts, flicking another finger out. Thor creates another "X" with the stitching focusing his gaze down. Trying to concentrate. "And you never thought to mention said sister, I don't know, even once? We've known each other for almost six years, Point Break."

Thor snorts. "I would have loved to discuss her with you." He says, his tone has gained a bitter lip of cheer, "But I didn't even know she existed until a few months ago. My father told me and Loki in his dying breaths. He banished her when I was child because she didn't kill enough people for him."

It's not an exact truth, but it's close enough. And Thor wants to have the inevitable discussion about all the physiological horrors Odin put them through about as much as he wants to get whacked over the head with a mace.

Tony is quiet.

Thor falls silent, too, working on the stitches with a vigor that feels a little strange. He's never been exactly lax with injuries before, but he can't remember ever concentrating this hard. He doesn't want to think. Not about Loki. Not about the Tesseract. Or Thanos. Or Odin. Or Hela. Or any of it. He _can't _think. If he thinks he'll only make himself panic and...he's not allowed to do that.

Not right now.

(Maybe ever.)

Thor glances up once at a loud clatter and Spider-Man calls an apology as he picks up the metal case he was holding and drags it over to Strange and Hela, opening it and pulling out a few rags. The wizard's puncture marks—torture marks, according to Tony—are the next victim of Hela's rough medical skills, and Spider-Man's half attempts to help.

Spider-Man's side is now wrapped in thick gauze, but his movements are still stiff with pain.

Tony is quiet for a long few seconds, processing, before saying blankly: "...I don't mean to be rude, but yeah. That sounds like your family."

Thor's teeth snap together. He looks up. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I just…" Tony fiddles with his fingers, hands lax on his lap. "You guys...have issues to work out. Your brother attempted to conquer a planet just to spite you, remember? And your dad is kind of…" he waves his hands, at a loss for words.

Thor has no shortage of them. He could scream insults at the man into eternity. Maybe he _will _when he's finally dead.

"A psychopath? Sadist? Megalomaniac? Blood thirsty? Tyrannical? Pick and choose at your leisure." Thor snaps darkly. The multi-billionaire's eyebrows raise and Thor sighs heavily, wanting to run a hand through his hair until he can pull his scalp tight enough that he can think, but resisting to prevent getting Tony's wound infected.

Tony glances at him, face tired, but expression strangely sympathetic. "No defenses this time?"

"What's the point? I'm not blind to the truth." Thor mutters, sliding the needle in and then out again. He tugs on the string to tighten it. "I was a blind fool. Pretending that I didn't understand what my father was doing helped make it endurable. But I can't feign ignorance any longer."

Tony sighs softly. "I take it that something came up? Last couple months haven't just been space-travel funtimes?"

Thor squeezes his eye shut. "Not exactly."

"You're...you want to talk—?"

"No."

"_Should_ you?" Tony pushes pointedly, but strangely gentle at the same time. Thor goes quiet, clenching his fists. He...doesn't even know what he'd say. This type of thing is something he'd discuss with Loki or his mother, not Tony. Thor has never been very good at sharing personal information, despite how he wears his heart on his sleeve. The only people who were ever very good at yanking it out of him were his mother or brother.

And neither of them are here to do that.

How can he explain that his father nearly destroyed his brother and sister...and _him_ with his parenting? It would take longer than he cares for. And doesn't seem like the type of thing Tony wants to talk about, either. It's not like the Avengers have a shortage of awful parenting. They all carry their demons. Thor just wishes that a lot _less _of them had to do with those that raised them.

"I don't…" Thor trails. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. He pulls the final stitch tight and moves methodically as he finishes, tying a knot by habit. He cuts the thread and wraps a bandage over the wound for good measure, handing Tony his pale gray shirt. "I'm done. We should go see if they need help."

"Thor," Tony grabs his shoulder Thor makes a move to walk away. "Wait. Just...don't try and shoulder through this alone like you do everything else. I want to help."

But that means nothing.

(It means everything.)

Thor gives a thin, bitter smile. "Thank you, but I'm not sure if there's much you can do."

"I'd offer to punch your dad, but he's kind of too deceased for it to participate." Tony shrugs on his shirt, getting up. Clearly he, like Thor often does, is trying to process this with humor. "But I mean, if you have a corpse or something..."

Thor shakes his head, silently amused by the idea. "Asgardian bodies are dissolved into star dust within a week of death. My father—" he swallows the word, it tastes heavy and thick in his throat "—was no exception."

Tony huffs humorlessly, giving a slight snap of his fingers as if disappointed. Still, there's something knowing in Tony's gaze as he says softly, "I'm sorry. I never liked your dad, but it's hard. Learning that your parents aren't who you thought they were."

Thor looks away from him, towards the crease between the ceiling and wall. His throat feels hot. "Yeah." He mumbles in agreement.

"If…" Tony starts, clearly flustered. "If you ever need someone to listen…"

"I'll be sure not to ask you." Thor quips. Tony huffs, but the sincerity in his gaze assures Thor that this isn't some sort of sympathetic facade. It's strange. It's been far too long since he talked with the Avengers. But last he was on Earth, though, relationships had been...strained.

"Good." Tony nods, both of them fully aware that the man doesn't mean it. "I'm not good with that. Emotions. Gross. I'll see if I can get Pepper available for you."

"Very thoughtful, Stark." Thor assures, both of them moving towards the edge of the pod. As bits of the others' conversation start to make more sense, Thor glances at his teammate. "Thank you."

Tony gives a slight nod, and the moment is broken when he pushes forward to grab at Spider-Man's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Spider-Man flinches, almost jumping a foot in his surprise as he twists his head around to look back at the man. "Mr. Stark! You're up. Did you manage to get it to stop bleeding? Will you keep the hand?"

Dr. Strange's gaze lifts from a pained squint to the crease of the ceiling to Tony, studying him visibly. Hela hand grabs the man's chin pointedly and pushes it back up so she can continue to wipe blood away from a puncture mark near his collarbone. She's pushing back his shirt with one hand as she works, eyes narrowed with focus.

"Yeah. But unless I'm mistaken, you laying down is part of the healing process." Tony snips. "Stab wound by magical glass daggers, remember?"

"I'm okay." Spider-Man argues, almost brightly, "The world even stopped spinning!"

"It was _spinning?"_

Spider-Man rubs at the back of his neck for a moment, looking embarrassed and Thor sees Tony roll his eyes and grumble something under his breath before shoving Spider-Man to the floor beside Dr. Strange. "Stay there." He says flatly, "And do not move until I say so."

Thor watches the exchange, his lip twitching upwards. Privately, he'd always thought that Tony would make a good father, and he wasn't mistaken.

"But, Mr. Stark—"

"Kid, if I hear _one _more disagreement out of you in the next fifteen minutes—"

Thor tunes out the argument and moves and squats down beside his sister, eyeing the doctor's injuries. There's over a dozen, but none of them are more serious than weeping blood. But most of them are on Strange's face, and head wounds tend to bleed profusely. Hela glances once at him before dabbing at a bloody spot near Strange's ear.

"Anything serious?" Thor questions.

"No." Strange says flatly.

"I wouldn't say that." Hela hums softly, squinting at something. "Midgardians are so hopelessly fragile. It's hard to say what will cause permanent damage or not."

Privately, Thor agrees, but he's had more time with humans that Hela has, so he's a little better judge on what will and won't be life threatening. In all honesty, when he first started working with them more frequently, Thor decided that if it's not small enough to go behind a bandaid (large or small), it's in danger of killing them. This was often to his teammates' amusement and annoyance, because Thor has a habit of overreacting.

"But I am concerned about this," Hela pulls back a rag and reveals the bloody, gaping wound next to the doctor's ear. Thor's lips press together, whatever fine blade slipped between the man's skin pierced at an angle and Thor's not certain of the inner part of the left ear is undamaged.

"Is it that bad?" Strange questions with a lifted eyebrow. For all the pain he should be in, he seems relatively calm. As if pain isn't something that bothers him anymore. Odd.

"It's not good." Thor admits when Hela doesn't say anything. "But we can't do anything to wrap it where it's at. I think"—Thor pauses to push Hela's hand away and nods to himself once—"yes, it's clotted. Bleeding out shouldn't be a problem, but infection…"

There's something knowing, but lost in Strange's gaze as he murmurs, "Well, that won't be a problem."

Hela blinks. "Has your species recently seen a rapid evolution against bacteria? Because last I can recall, sickness, especially infection, was wiping you lot out in droves."

"Rude." Tony says, sending a scowl in her direction. "We have medicine to fight a lot of those now. We don't die from open gashes as much as we used to, thank you."

"Well, that's only until the bacteria evolves beyond our current antibiotics," Spider-Man points out. "Then we're kinda back at square one and everyone will die again."

"You're just the voice of positive energy today, aren't you?" Tony questions, clearly exasperated.

Spider-Man winces. "Sorry."

"That _aside," _Strange says, something foreboding in his tone as he pushes Hela's hands to the side. "We need to discuss Thanos. What we're going to _do _about him."

Spider-Man's expression visibly falls as Tony closes his eyes for a moment. The very name seems to fill them with an incomprehensible trepidation, and Thor doesn't understand why. When they discussed how they all ended up here earlier, they had no further information about Thanos than Thor and his sister did. And yet...they don't seem _terrified, _just...dreading. As if whatever Thanos is going to do is beyond their ability to stop.

It...unsettles Thor more than he cares to admit.

But he's _not _going to accept this as the end.

No one's fate is written out for them. Whatever Thanos has done, whatever he _is _going to do, they can repair it given enough time.

"Does this mean you'll discuss how you know who I am?" Hela questions, backing up slightly to give Strange space. She throws the dirty rag towards the medical kit without looking, and Thor watches it lands flawlessly in the center of the supplies.

Strange gives a slight dip of his head, sitting up slightly against the wall and suddenly seeming _exhausted. _The weight of a warrior who has fought many battles and came out the only survivor in each one.

The Wizard gives the necklace strung around his neck a tap; the place where an Infinity Stone is resting. "This is the Time Stone," he says after a moment, and Thor glances at Hela. Time. The Stone that Asgardian lore says that their grandfather gave to the Midgardians for safe keeping millenias ago? "I assume you are familiar?"

"We are." Thor confirms.

"I am its keeper, and its wielder," Strange continues, fingers pulling away from the clasp. "And I used it. In light of the recent threat, I went forward in time to view alternate realities...we were on Titan for a few hours before you arrived. Stark, the kid and I were trying to determine what to do as we waited for Thanos, so I...viewed possible outcomes in the future to see which ones we'd win."

He played _seer?_ Doesn't know how unreliable the Time Stone is that matter? Without the proper training, all he'd be able to look at is a mess of timelines. But even then...there _is_ always some truth to it.

"And?" Thor tries to keep the impatience from his tone. He notices that the wizard's face has gone somewhat pale and shakes his head. Tony's jaw has tightened and Spider-Man looks like he might be sick. "Don't tell me that the odds are _that _grim. Even if this Titan does have a few Stones, what man could possibly—"

"None." Strange interrupts.

His heart clenches in his chest as if squeezed inside a fist. Thor stares, something cold in his stomach. "I'm sorry?"

Hela breathes out raggedly.

"We win none. Out of the sixteen million three hundred and five possibilities I saw, that I viewed and parsed, we win exactly _zero."_ Strange holds up a shaking hand to form the number, something bitter in his tone.

Thor doesn't say anything. His mouth has gone dry. He doesn't...he doesn't _understand. _"How...how can we have won _none? _Sixteen million...you're wrong. We _have _to have won them. That's ridiculous. It's _one man! _Even with Infinity Stones, he isn't indestructible!"

Strange shakes his head, almost sad. Oddly, his gaze is on Thor's sister, face set in a grim line like he knows something about her fate Thor doesn't. Thor's stomach clenches suddenly, a thought occurs to him. _What if Hela dies in the outcome of this, and Strange knows it?_

"Every path we have taken to this point has affected the outcome of this war. I'm sorry, Thor, but _we don't win_ this fight."

His heart thumps awkwardly within the confines of his chest. "There has to be at least one time that we actually do this right. One. Look again."

Dr. Strange shakes his head, his gaze pulling away from Thor's sibling at long last to settle on him. "Even if I did, it wouldn't make a difference."

Thunder crackles overhead. Thor doesn't care. He sees Tony look up nervously, but he's had _enough. _From what he understands, Thanos's entire goal was to slaughter half the universe. There has to be at least _one _where they manage to conquer this without trillions dead. "These are people's lives on the line, wizard, surely you can tell us what we're doing wrong in one so we can fix it. We can't let Thanos _walk away—"_

"Who said that he walked away?" Dr. Strange snaps, his cape flaring around him as if trying to make him bigger. "I said that we lost. I can't tell you how. I can't tell you why. There are countless realities where I do and it makes things worse. I need you to trust me."

Thor _laughs. _A wild thing, frantic and desperate as it escapes his lips. Strange startles, clearly having expected Thor to rage, not chortle.

But it's not _funny._

"_You _are _not_ a seer." Thor says flatly. "You don't have the training or the experience to be using the Time Stone as a looking glass." Strange bristles, but Thor isn't done. "Because if you _did, _you would know that the Time Stone shows _possibilities. _Reality is never so simple. Every action we take, every word we say will change the course of the future, and you think that a_ rock_ is going to tell you the fate of everything?"

Strange hesitates. "I do."

"Then you're a paranoid moron!" Thor exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Superstitious, overly monomania—"

"No," Strange snaps, "I'm the guardian of the Time Stone. I _know _what has been written of it and what it does...and I also know that you're trying to protect yourself from the truth." His expression softens some. "For what it's worth, Thor, I am sorry."

_Why is he apologizing!?_

Because Thanos wins.

And if Thanos wins, he has to have all the Stones.

And to have all the Stones, he has to have the Space Stone.

And Loki has the Space Stone.

Loki would have to be—

_No. _This isn't happening. _They can't lose!_

"Sorry won't solve this! Only action will." Thor seethes. "We can still fix this. There's time. Thanos doesn't have the means to slaughter half the universe yet. We can still beat him. I'll lop off his head and then his arms if it will do the trick."

_Loki would have to be_—

"We won't win."

Loki has the Space Stone. Loki—

"_YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" _Thor roars, throwing himself to his feet. "The Time Stone is _not a seer. _It's a rock. You can't tell fate with a rock!"

"Thor," Hela's voice, behind him, is lowered in a warning.

"No. I refuse to believe that we fail. That he gets all the Stones. It's not possible." Thor shakes his head, feeling the barest edge of panic begin to cloud his senses. _Because if Thanos has all the Stones, that means he has Space. And that means that in sixteen _million _different realities, Thor fails to save Loki._

Loki dies every time.

Loki is not a survivor if they fail.

_Loki is going to die if they don't stop Thanos._

_How can they fail sixteen _million_ times?_

Strange is shaking his head, expression sympathetic. As if he understands what Thor is not saying. Tony takes a step forward, murmuring a soft, "Thor," as he does so. Thor shakes his head again, harder this time, and turns on his heal sharply. "I'm going to think. Tell me when you've seen the reality we're _actually _going to live through."

Loki has the Space Stone.

_Loki—_

000o000

He doesn't go far. Long years of hunting, quests, and whatever-else he and the Warriors Four went hopping off to accomplish have taught him that drifting too far from camp is stupid. Titan is a planet. If Thor walks for long enough, he can get himself lost, and they don't have the time to deal with that right now...whatever their plan ends up being. Not that there's exactly a point. According to the Wizard, everything they do equals a loss.

_Loki_—

So Thor finds a secluded spot, sits, and _thinks. _Panics, more like.

For the first time since Loki ran off, reality _settles _in Thor's mind. Loki was already dying when they left. Thanos will have to kill him, and Thanos is not a creature of mercy. The chances of his little brother walking away from this are so low it's almost laughable to cling to any hope. Loki's sedir collapsed. Loki couldn't keep himself upright when they talked in the hall. Loki is dying. Loki is going to die.

His brother is going to _die_.

His brother might already _be _dead.

And nothing Thor does is going to change that. He's too late. Too far. Too slow. Again. Why is it every time Loki is near death as of late, it's always when he's touching at Thor's fingertips. And Thor somehow manages to lose the grip _every single time._

Their rescue mission is futile. All they're going to do is bring back a corpse. Because his brother might be, and probably is, dead.

Thor stares out at the broken, abandoned city, and doesn't say a word. The thoughts keep circling, a vulture to any peace.

It's a little over what Thor's guessing is two hours before he hears approaching footsteps. Thor climbed atop one of the more sturdy ruins and has been brooding ever since. His legs swung over the side as he stares out onto the musty, broken streets below. The dust is making his lungs ache, but Thor's a little past caring.

He glances back at the noise and sees Hela walking towards him, brushing dust off of her hands. Her attempts don't really seem to be working, though, which isn't much of a surprise, given the weather of this place.

Thor returns his gaze forward towards the sun slowly setting in the distance. The sky is alight with a deep red hue. If a red dawn means blood has been split in the night, what is a red dusk supposed to? Everyone is _about _to die?

Hela takes a seat next to him, one leg propped up and the other hanging over the edge. She rests her hand on the leg and Thor can see her watching his expression from the corner of his eye. There's something careful about her face, almost as if she's putting an _effort _to keep it blank. It doesn't seem natural.

Thor doesn't say anything.

A few minutes pass before Hela breaks the soft silence by saying, "He recognized me from his ganders into the future. The wizard, that is. He...also said Odin spoke to him before you found him. That's how he knew who I was; Odin warned him of my coming, though not by name."

Thor squeezes his eyes shut. In the midst of everything, he'd almost forgotten that Odin was wandering around for _four years. _He wasn't just some sort of treaty signing with Alfheim. Odin could have talked with an innumerable amount of people. The fact that he spoke with Midgard's wizards isn't much of a surprise. Not when he _thinks _about it. But still. It stings a little to know that Odin was willing to discuss Hela with a _stranger, _but never breathed her name near Thor.

But the ache of withheld information is a familiar one now. Thor gives a little dip of his head in acknowledgement to let her know that he heard.

Silence lapses again.

Hela sighs, wrapping her arms around her leg. She rests her chin on her knee and the position makes her look far younger than Thor knows she must be. With a pang of regret, he realizes that he doesn't even _know. _He doesn't know how old she was when she was banished, when he was born, when Odin sent her to her first war. When her namesday is. There are so many things...things that Odin _took _when he wiped her from their heads.

"We don't know that Thanos will kill him." She says at length. They kind of do. There is no other way to get the Tesseract with Loki's sedir collapsed. Loki signed his death papers when he took it from the Treasury Room during Ragnarok. "Thanos could have found some other way."

She sounds like she believes that about as much as he does.

Sixteen million.

They fail more than _sixteen million _times? How many of those times did Loki die in front of them? How many times did he believe he was to be rescued and then slaughtered at their feet? How many of them did Loki die _alone? _How many...how many of them did Loki manage to give the Tesseract without his life being taken in the process? How many actually involved _dying?_ What is the path they're currently on going to be?

"Are you going to say something?" Hela questions. Oddly, she doesn't sound impatient. She doesn't snap it. She doesn't say it angrily and expects a response. It sounds...lost.

Thor releases a shuddering breath. He parts his lips, but all that escapes him is a choked sob. He blinks tears back rapidly, but his throat is constricting and nothing seems to stop the pressure in his chest. It's like a small creature is stretching against either side of the inside of his lungs and refuses to be denied.

His vision blurs.

His fingers clench.

He breathes out sharply before gasping in. His face is wet. He's crying. He's mourning someone they don't even _know _is dead yet. Loki could still very well be alive. But they don't _know. _And that's what makes this worse. There is no magical way for Thor to contact his brother and confirm the state of his health. But this death...this would be the end. There wouldn't be any resurrections. Loki would go to his grave, and Thor would have to live with that.

_But he doesn't even know._

A hand touches the back of his head and Thor jerks, nearly tumbling off of the roof in his surprise. He manages to catch himself and lifts his head up, seeing Hela's hand frozen behind him. Her expression is thinned, but it's not angry.

After a moment, she slowly scoots closer to him and wraps her arm around him awkwardly. The position is clearly not a familiar one to her, but Thor doesn't really care. He chokes on another sob, letting his hands fall limp in his lap.

Hela slowly rests her head on his shoulder, left hand beginning to finger through his hair. Thor rests his head on top of hers, the dark hair coarse against his face. His tears bleed into her hair, and they don't seem to _stop._

_Loki isn't dead. _They don't know that he is.

They sit like this for minutes. Maybe hours. Hela's fingers don't stop trailing through his hair and the warmth of her skin, meager as it is, is reassuring. She's still here. Thor isn't alone in this.

The clouds overhead are black and darkened, threatening rain if the right exhale of air touches it. It's Thor's fault, he's well aware of that, but he doesn't _care. _He can't get himself to do anything but cry into the empty night, too empty to feel a release from the tears.

Eventually Thor manages to get enough control of his voice to ask, "Do—do you think...that the wizard…?"

Hela's fingers hesitate. He can't see her expression well enough in the poor lighting to guess from there, but she exhales softly. "No." Her voice is firm, a promise. "I won't let anything happen to Loki. Or to you. I swear on my life."

But promises can be broken.

"He's my best friend," Thor admits, wishing he had something to fiddle with his hands. Thor realizes he's crying again. His voice is thick when he says, "I can't let him die again."

"_Nothing _is going to happen to either of you." Hela sounds certain. "You'll both walk away from this." If Thor had been younger, more callow, he might have believed her. But he knows better now.

(_He wishes he didn't.)_

000o000

A little over an hour later, Thor is listlessly picking through a ration pack that Hela threw at him when they returned to camp when Tony drops an axe in front of him. It's the blade that Hela gave him during the heat of the battle when they arrived on Titan. Thor looks up from the blade to his teammate slowly, and blinks. His brain feels sluggish, as if the tears had completely drained it of any and all energy.

"What?"

"Get off your rump." Tony demands. "And pick up the weapon."

"_Why?" _Thor mutters, shaking the pack like he actually cares about what's inside. It tastes like ash on his tongue. "We're going to lose anyway."

Tony rests a hand on the hilt. He's dressed in his armor again, even though it's not a good idea. With the way that his shoulder is injured, he really shouldn't be doing anything with his left arm, let alone trying to _fly _with it. Tony releases an agitated noise, plucking the food from Thor's grip and throwing it to the ground.

"Because I refuse to sit idly by and watch it happen."

Thor sighs, resisting the urge to cover his face. "And you probably felt that way in the sixteen million other times Strange saw this play out. I can tell you how it ends: _everybody dies."_

"What happened to 'a rock can't tell fate'?" Tony demands.

"It's an Infinity Stone." Thor points out. "Their powers are known to be pretty limitless."

"No." Tony shakes his head, pushing the handle towards Thor. "We're not doing this. If Thanos is going to win, then we are going to be a thorn in his side the entire way. I won't let him accomplish this easily, and if there's anything left of the idiot who blew up Sokovia with me, then you won't let him do it either."

Thor looks up at his teammate, and then beyond where Spider-Man, Strange, and his sister are sitting near the campfire. All look as hopeless as Thor feels. If Tony is trying to boost morale, he probably shouldn't have started with Thor.

"Whether or not we do anything is irrelevant, Stark." Thor says, pushing the handle back towards him.

"You're wrong." Tony says flatly. "There are trillions of lives on the line. Are you really going to sit here and let Thanos slaughter them? If we can stop him, we can at least make his job harder." He hesitates and then adds, "Please. I don't want to die knowing that I let it happen. I need you. They need all of us."

Thor stares at the weapon for a long moment. An axe. A hammer. It doesn't matter in the end. It's still a weapon. And weapons kill.

Thanos has, or will, murder his brother. Thor doesn't intend to let him walk away from that. Strange never said that Thanos lived after he won. His head is Thor's.

Thor grasps the hilt of the axe and sees something in Tony's face unclench with relief. Thor rises to his feet slowly and meets the eyes of the Midgardian. "I assume you have a plan."

"Yes." Tony agrees immediately, and then shakes his head. "No. All I've got for you is the coordinates of the mothership that that—" Tony points towards the crashed ship "—came from. I did some digging while you were...busy. If we can get there...maybe we can storm the castle, I don't know."

Thor's stomach clenches. Loki is more than likely _on _that ship. His corpse, at least. Thor gnaws on his inner lip for a moment and then releases a breath. "It's better than nothing. Strange creates portals, doesn't he?"

Tony blows out a breath and rubs at the back of his neck. "I don't think it's across space."

"Well then," Thor yanks the weapon from the ground. His limbs feel sluggish and tired. Thor just wants to rest. He doesn't want to fight another battle, but he doesn't get much of a choice in that matter. He looks up at the rest of the group and nods his head once. Tony's right. If they're going to go down, they shouldn't do it sitting around this campfire and waiting until the end. Thanos may win, but no one said it had to be an _easy _win.

He looks Tony in the eyes. "I'll drive."

* * *

_"Whisper me a story, you don't need to lie,_

_I can spoil the ending;_

_Everybody dies."_

_-_Royal and the Serpent "Underneath the Mask."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are going to hate me when this is over, haha. 'Cause this was never meant to be an Infinity War re-write.
> 
> Next chapter: March. Sometime. Hopefully soon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even remember when the last update date was listed as. That's how late I am. Whoops. Sorry?
> 
> Please enjoy the last chapter. ;)
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, assumed character death.

* * *

("Hela...this is your new brother, Loki."

"You weren't expecting."

Frigga's smile is sad, "He's not mine, daughter." She murmurs softly. She doesn't doubt that. She just saw her stepmother not three months past when Father returned her to Asgard. Frigga wasn't bulky enough for a pregnancy that far along. But a spur of the moment adoption doesn't seem very like her, either.

Or Father.

"Whose is he?" she questions with trepidation. Frigga's smile grows tighter.

"I'll tell you later." She shifts, leaning out her arms for her to take the babe, but she doesn't know if she wants to. If she can. What will happen if she touches this innocent life? Green eyes stare up at her, big and tired. She sighs with resentment and lifts the babe from her stepmother into her arms.

The weight is small, but the babe leans towards her, tired. Trusting.

"Do you like brother!?" Thor hops up to her, grabbing at her leg. She flinches, her entire body seizing, but the physical touch does not make her cower back the way it would have before Laufey. "He's so small and breakable." Thor says this cheerfully, but he's biting on his lower lip in discomfort at the thought.

She adjusts her grip on the little one and glances down at the blond, muttering an annoyed curse under her breath. Frigga shoots her a pointed look, but she doesn't care. It's not like she's going to be a good influence on these two anyway. She's not exactly booming with traits they'd want to grow up with.

"He's...something." She says at last.

Thor grips her leg tighter. "Don't let him go. Amma said if I let 'im go he won't come back. Are you going to let me go?"

_ Yes. She can't stand another minute under this household. _

"No." She says, re-adjusting her grip again. She's not a big sister type. She's not even good at being a sister. Or a daughter. "I'll shove you instead. How about that?"

Thor thinks about it, even though Frigga looks mildly horrified at the suggestion. "I guess that would be okay." Thor agrees, "So long as you'll be there to catch us both.")

000o000

Pulling out of the jump point is like stepping into a dream-scaped warzone. She fought wars on solid earth. Her battlefield did not rock with every blow nor threaten to send her speeding into the vacuum of the Void. Space is...different. And it's for this reason that, as the world focuses around her, she feels something unsettle with her stomach. Apprehension.

Perhaps unease.

The small pod's communications begin to blare immediately, making them aware of an oncoming messages. Hela has no misplaced doubts about what it's from. She's not an idiot. A distress call, perhaps a plea of mercy to the mothership.

Thor's companion—Tony, wasn't it?—is the first to break the silence of their journey, doing so with a curse the All-Speak doesn't provide a direct translation for. She sees Tony's ward grimace to her left, but she's already standing and moving towards the front before she can do much else to parse what he's thinking. Dr. Strange and Spider-Man get up behind her, drawn towards the front as if they're in a communal trance.

In front of them is a warship. It's longer than it is tall, silver with golden tabs that shine in the nearby stars. The design seems rather flat, almost like a double bladed knife with a bulging center. The wings must balance it, because she can't see any other practical purpose for them being that long. The ship easily dwarfs their own, and Hela counts a small mercy that it doesn't appear to notice them at once.

Instead, it's focused on the small, orange-silver ship that it's brutally raining fire down upon. The shields are holding on the tiny vessel, but Hela doesn't suspect it will be for much longer. The sheer bombardment of the assault is merciless.

Well.

This was unexpected.

Hela grabs the back of the pilot's chair, watching her brother yank sharply on the controls from the corner of her vision. The force of the sudden stop causes her to rock forward, ramming her knee hard against metal of the chair, but she only hears the clang.

"Yeah." Spider-Man says, his voice slightly pitched. "I think that you found the right ship, Mr. Stark."

"They aren't going to last long in that fire." Tony mutters, shifting forward on his seat. His eyes, like hers, are pinned on the small aircraft. The oncoming messages continue to blare, but none of them make a move to listen to the distress signal.

When she glances towards him, Dr. Strange's brow is furrowed with some confusion. As if he wasn't expecting this. Perhaps all his views into the future eventually blurred into one. Or the Time Stone, as it's been known since before she was born, is simply an unreliable prophet.

"Which one is Thanos's?" Thor demands, pushing down on a few buttons and flipping a few switches. Shields. Engaging weapons. Pulling them off the radar. Smart. If the mothership doesn't notice them, with how focused they are on destroying the smaller vessel, it's likely they'll be missed for a few more minutes.

"What do you think!?" Tony retorts blankly, throwing up a hand. "The one being pelted with death or the big one!?"

"Obviously—" Thor starts with cheek, but stops when one of the canons on the mothership turns towards them and fires. Her brother swears sharply, pulling them out of the line of fire and pushes at the engines. Unlike what she was expecting, he doesn't lead them around the ship, or even out of the range of fire. No. Instead, like an _idiot, _he heads for the orange-silver vessel.

"What on Bor's severed head are you doing!?" Hela demands harshly. "Are you _trying_ to get us killed!?"

Through gritted teeth, Thor says, "They need help."

_Must he play the hero?_

"What good will we be!?" Hela tries to keep from shouting, but her voice is still raised. "We have one blaster, shields from my childhood and _they _canons. Do you plan to just throw us into the line of fire and hope everything turns out alright?"

"We can't just leave them to die." Tony argues, as if this is fact, and not something up for debate. Hela is not so easily persuaded. She's led armies. She's faced decisions that have left people for dead, and right now, that is what they have to do. There's no way for them to save the ship, even if they wanted to.

Thor exhales sharply and twists the ship in a spin, causing her to lose her footing. She smashes against the wall nearby, her elbow making a sharp _clank. _Spider-Man manages to remain standing surprisingly, but Dr. Strange is also thrown. Hela glares at the back of her sibling's head and drags herself upright.

They're approaching the ship faster, putting them inside the heavy pelts of fire and further from the mothership. From Loki.

Her mind is buzzing, spinning, and she doesn't have the energy to play nice. "We need to make the attack on the ship now. Do you_ want_ our brother to die?"

Thor flinches. "They're innocent."

"_You don't know that."_

Thor chances a glance back at her now, expression strangely full of fury. Hela holds his stare. His mouth opens, clearly intending to further his argument, but before either of them can make a point, a bolt slams into the side of the pod. The shield, amazingly, holds, but the power to the entire vessel sputters once, flashing desperately before giving out.

The first threads of panic begin to wrap around her throat.

Tony swears, immediately getting to his feet and yanking down the front panel to stare at the box of wires hopelessly. "Shoot. FRI—" Tony stops himself, releasing an agitated breath and beginning to fiddle with the controls.

Thor hops beneath the dashboard and rips off a large metal grating, working just as frantically. Hela presses her fingers against her eyes for a moment and looks forward. "They're preparing to fire at us again." She says, her tone strangely flat for all the panic rising in her chest. "We don't have any shields."

Dr. Strange lifts up shaking hands, making some sort of gesture with his fingers and tapping his forearms together. A reddish-orange glow spills into the pod from the window and Hela looks up to see some sort of spell wrapped around their small vessel.

The bolt slams into the magic and Dr. Strange grimaces, but holds his ground. Hela hears Spider-Man's breathing hitch.

"The engine's fried." Thor announces, shoving up to his feet.

"I can't get the reactor to respond." Tony calls. "Where is the fuel source?"

Another blast rocks the ship, followed by another, and another in rapid succession.

"It's not fuel, it's energy," Thor explains rapidly. "It's electricity based. Can you get a spark out of anything?"

"No."

Thor moves next to Tony and yanks on some of the wires, twisting them out of shape. His brow furrows a moment later and he swears under his breath. "I don't know what any of these do."

"Well, that's helpful." Tony mutters.

Another blast hits them and Dr. Strange is driven to his knees. His nose is beginning to bleed. Hela rests a hand on his shoulder, attempting to assess his state, but he gives a shake of his head, grimacing openly.

"I can't...hold this…" Dr. Strange gasps.

"Can't you just kick it!?" Spider-Man demands, moving forward slightly.

"Kid, when has that actually helped anything?" Tony counters, running a hand through his hair. Another blast rocks the ship and Dr. Strange's breath hitches. More blood leaks from his nose. Hela's mind scrambles. Information races, but she doesn't know nearly as much about sedir as she should to help. Not the baseline education that everyone got. She didn't even learn to read until Odin married her stepmother.

"The blast overpowered the engine. Maybe if we jumpstart…" Thor suggests helplessly.

Another blast and the shield flickers, but holds.

"With _what?_" Spider-Man says incredulously, "How do you jumpstart a spaceship!?"

Thor hisses something under his breath before he flexes his fingers sharply and Hela tastes ozone as the air cackles around them. Thor's hands alight with electricity and Hela's stomach squirms, but Thor slams his palms against the dashboard. The ship flares to life immediately, lights flaring on and everything beginning to whine or blink.

The new life lasts as long as another blast slamming into the shields before it flickers out like a candle squished between two fingers.

Thor prepares for another blast, but Tony grabs his arm. "Don't. You're overwhelming the wires. They're not used to handling that much raw power—"

"But I can't—" Thor tries.

Another missile hits and Dr. Strange crumbles as the shield breaks. The ship rocks harshly and all of them, save Spider-Man for some odd reason again, go flailing to the floor. Hela manages to catch herself before she rams her head against the metal floor, but blows stray dark hair from her face, annoyed. If she has to hit this bloody for _one more time—_

"New plan," Dr. Strange gasps out, hand on his side. He coughs, spitting up blood. "We split up. Thor and his sister go...go for their brother. The rest help the Guardians."

"The who—?" Tony starts, rolling to his hands and knees, but Dr. Strange is already digging through his pockets frantically and pulls out some sort of ring with trembling fingers. He shoves it onto one hand and shakes his head as if trying to clear it before he starts to spin his hands.

"I don't know...know if this is going to work across space," Dr. Strange says, grimacing.

"Wait—" Hela hears someone say. She doesn't know who it was—it might have been her. Some sort of glimmering spark-covered portal opens beneath Spider-Man, Thor, and Tony, dropping them out of her sight. Hela makes a noise, something between a shriek and a yell, hands grappling for a weapon. Portals.

Dr. Strange looks towards her, his fingers still spinning. With wide eyes, he draws one hand back and pulls the necklace containing the Time Stone off his neck and holds it out to her. "Take this. Bargain for your brother." Hela stares at him, uncomprehending. More urgently, Dr. Strange drops it onto her hand and she clasps it by habit. "We're all going to die anyway, Thanos wins every time. Whether or not I hold the Stone or you do is irrelevant."

He begins to spin his hands again and then looks at her face. "And Hela? Thank you."

The light flares beneath her, and Hela drops through the floor.

000o000

Thor smashes face-first into something hard, and all the air in his lungs escapes him in a whoosh. He bounces slightly, his body groaning with protest against the movement. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eye shut, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

_Ow._

Thor groans lightly, blinking rapidly as he tries to get his vision to focus. The world slowly stops showing six different versions of itself, morphing into one. Thor shoves up, sitting back on his heels. He's in some sort of long hallway. It's lit every few feet from what looks like long light bulbs. The craftsmanship of the ship isn't familiar to him.

He can't see or sense anyone nearby, so Thor hesitantly gets up to his feet attempting to balance properly. It feels off. Like he was dropped through a void without any warning. Surprise, that.

Thor looks up and down the hall again, trying to find his sister. Surly Strange would have put the two of them together...but no. Maybe he intended for that to happen, but inter-dimensional travel has always been unpredictable without the Tesseract. The fact that Strange managed to land Thor _on _Thanos's ship speaks of his power.

If this _is _the right ship.

Thor runs a hand through his hair and breathes out slowly. Alright. This is fine. He just...needs to find his sister, and a weapon. Then he can figure out what to do from there. He doesn't know what level of the ship he's on, but this doesn't strike him as a prisoner's block. And he doesn't know where Loki would be otherwise.

Thor begins to move forward, rolling his weight to his toes to silent his footsteps as best he's able. He keeps the electricity just beneath his skin, ready to burst should he call for it.

Thor moves through the vessel, encountering resistance, but manages to pull through without the entire ship being alerted of his presence. He's still lost, has no idea where he's going or what he's doing, but now he's dripping blood and holding a blaster, so that must mean _something._

_Oh yes, _the voice sounds like Loki's, dripping with sarcasm inside his head, _your tiny blaster will mean so much against an army._

_Shut up._

It must have been over an hour, but Thor keeps moving forward, lost, as his heart pounds in his ears and beats at his chest. Why can't he find _anyone? _Thanos, Hela, Loki. One of the three. A general instead of a footsoldier. Why—

Warning lights begin to blare at last, and though Thor's entire body tenses, he ducks behind a corner and mutters, "finally" under his breath. For someone so powerful, Thanos's ship is laughably undermanned. It's almost as if his entire army is somewhere else.

Thor's stomach sinks.

Maybe it _is. _He has no idea what Thanos has been doing these last few days.

Thor grips his gun and breathes out slowly before continuing to advance. He makes as far as another hall before he hears rapid footsteps behind him. He twists in time to raise his blaster as a make-shift shield, and a sword smashes down against it. A tall woman with scales around her eyes and long blue hair sneers at him from the other side of the blade.

"What are you doing here?" she demands. Her voice is deep, but angry.

She speaks a language he can understand. Thor's relief overshadows his surprise and he draws the blaster back for another shielding when the woman draws back. "Where is my brother?" he counters. The woman stares at him. "Dark hair, pale, mouthy." Thor appends.

The slightest edge of a smirk twitches on the woman's lips. She draws her sword back and swings it harshly towards his neck. Thor jerks back, twisting out of the way and lifting a hand to fire towards her stomach. The woman dives out of the way and Thor realizes with a sinking stomach that a small squadron of the clicking four-armed creatures is behind her, with two other large, bulky men. One of which has a face that looks remarkably like Midgard's starfish.

"Can't say I've seen him," the woman is taunting him. There's still that knowing smirk on the edge of her lips.

"Are you sure, sister? I couldn't sleep with his screaming." One of the men sneers, laughing when Thor feels his face lose color.

"Tell me where he is." Thor commands, backing up as she advances on him. A sword would have been better than a blaster. A _shield _would have been better than a blaster. "You seem marginally more intelligent than your lackeys, but I suppose I could be mistaken."

"What makes you think I'd tell you even if I did?" she challenges.

"I'd let you keep an eye." Thor twists out of the way of her sword again only for one of the creature's long claws to rake up his arm. He gasps, hand snapping to the wound as he fires blindly towards the four-armed creature's head.

The woman makes some sort of noise, an order in the language of the four-armed creatures, and they jump on him with the other two men and their heavy axes.

Thor's flattened almost immediately from the weight of the creatures, claws and teeth snapping at him, drawing blood and causing his vision to blur with pained tears. Thor releases a shout of agony before something in him just...snaps.

It isn't like the palace on Asgard, where it felt like missing parts of him clicked together for the first time; it's like a door he didn't know was there is simply torn from its hinges and lightning explodes from him. Every creature is thrown from off of him, charred and smoking, them and anything in the room instantly vaporized or killed. The power for the ship winks once before dying, casting the entire hall into darkness. The ventilation shafts stop humming, the booming noise of the cannons firing-everything.

Thor's senses are _opened. _He can taste the hum of electricity in the air, can feel every vibration, the wires it was traveling through, where it was needed most. Where he took it from, where it _is _in him now...everything. The sensation is overwhelming and Thor rolls to his hands and knees, bloody and gasping, vomiting up bile.

Everything is suddenly too much. His body itches, ears pulsing, blood pumping loudly. He can smell charred, burnt flesh and the sensation is almost enough to make him heave again. Thor breathes out shakily, but his lungs don't sound quite right.

It's as if he's finally shaken off the chains of some sort of prison. Mjonlir, he realizes. It was a tether. His entire life, his father gifted him with a weapon that would _numb _him.

_I'm not as strong as you._

_No...you're stronger._

Odin was afraid of him. Odin...Odin...and...Norns. He can't do this right now. He's supposed to be on a rescue mission to find Loki and then drag his older sister out of this blasted ship by her ear and get them both safely to Earth. He's the protector. That's his job. He can...just…

He coughs sharply. His skin is glowing. That's...not right. He lifts up his left hand, staring at his palm and then down to his elbow. His veins are alight with a whitish-blue glow. He's not just a conductor, drawing lightning from the skies. He _is _the storm.

"Asgardian." The voice startles him. Thor turns his head sharply, but it's too dark to make out a distinct figure. The only thing he can see properly is floating lights. Colorful lights. Small. About the size of half a finger...Stones. Infinity Stones. Thor's stomach twists. _Thanos?_

Thor's incense grows. Lightning dances along the tips of his hands. His blood is burning, and Thor needs to release before he charrs his insides. _Loki, _his mind pleads, _think of Loki. Don't be rash. You need answers._

He needs Thanos's head on a pike.

"Where is Loki?" Thor demands, his voice like a sharp crackle of lightning. "_Where is my brother?_"

"Hold your peace, Asgardian," Thanos's voice is deep and strangely soft all at once. There's a moment before he makes a slight _ah _noise. "King then. Thor, wasn't it?"

How does he-?

Loki.

"Thanos, isn't it?" Thor spits the name like a curse. He gets up to his feet unsteadily, hand pressing against the wall. The smell of burning skin fills his nostrils. He might be sick.

"So you do know me." Thanos sounds pleased.

"You tortured my brother."

"I opened his mind." Thanos argues flippantly. Thor hears him take a step forward, and Thor's body tenses. He can't retreat, so he holds his ground instead, letting the lightning spark across him. "You would hardly understand, but he did. He nearly brought me three Stones that week, but alas..."

_Three? _Loki only had Mind and Space, when did-the Time Stone. It was in New York during the invasion. Loki was wandering for three days. There is nothing arguing against Loki attempting to lay claim to the Time Stone before he finished the invasion.

"_Where. Is. He?_" Thor's voice is cold.

"He is with my children." Thanos says calmly. Thor blinks in confusion, trying to make sense of the words, but shakes his head. Does it matter? He needs Loki's location, not a riddle. "He gave his life for my cause."

Thor's blood runs cold.

No.

Loki's not-

No. _No. _Loki's stubborn. He's too stubborn to be killed by anything before he's ready to let go. He's not-

Thor notices something for the first time. There, sitting plainly for all to see, is the Space Stone. It's sitting inside the crevices of what is clearly a gauntlet. All six Stones are there. _Thanos has the Space Stone. _Loki-

Thor's to-thin patience snaps. Withers. Dies. He tears electricity down from the ceiling and Thanos has only time to raise the Gauntlet before it blasts into him at full force. Thor slams his fist as hard as he can into Thanos's gut and grabs for more lightning when the Titan stumbles back. He raises his hands, lightning cackling between his palms, prepares to fire and-

Stops.

His limbs have frozen, still and unmoving. Paralysis, he can't _move. _Panic creeps into his stomach, threatening to eat him through and through. Thor is reminded of when he was younger and Loki was still manifesting. How even barely able to walk, Loki's power was great. They would play, as best they were able. Once Loki touched him mindlessly, and Thor had been frozen as Loki wept for their mother and nursemaid.

They had been able to do nothing.

As Thor is now unable.

It is the work of the Tesseract. Thanos reaches forward and grabs him by the throat, lifting him up. Thor feels almost _plucked, _like one would do to a flower in the middle of a field. His touch reignites Thor's limbs and he struggles, grabbing at the Titan's forearm in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure on his neck. The electricity on his limbs seems to be nothing more than a vague annoyance to the Titan.

"You'll…" Thor barely manages to make the word out. His chest is compressing. "Die...for…"

Thanos throws him to the metal floor. Thor lands with a thud and Thanos's boot smashes against his chest. It's heavy. Thor's flailing arms lift to raise it, but it keeps getting heavier. He's being crushed. He's not going to make it. He pushes back desperately, but his muscles strain uselessly. Wait, _wait-_

After his ribcage has snapped from top to bottom and a hollow scream has been torn from him, a sword slips into Thanos's chest. He hears it more than sees, but Thanos makes a gagging noise before the weapon withdraws. The foot releases so he can stagger off of Thor to face his opponent. Thor's too exhausted to look up, he can't _breathe_. His lungs aren't working. He's going to die starving for air. The faint light of the Stones cast long shadows over the room.

There's a distinct _shing _sound, one that's almost impossible to mistake. He hates how his hope rises, but it does all the same. A figure steps in front of him, over him, a shadow falling onto his face. The figure is in front of him now, with the intent to guard, protect-avenge, Thor doesn't know. He squints into the dark and makes out the familiar crown of Hela's long hair.

Her cape swishes over him, wet with blood, but a welcomed feeling all the same. Thor thinks he might weep at the familiar sight. He laughs breathlessly, then coughs, clawing his fingers into the metal plating.

"Oh, darling," Hela's voice is silk, "you have made a terrible mistake."

"Have I?" Thanos is steady. The Time Stone is gleaming over the wound, repairing what damage has been done. The only trace it existed is the blood on one of Hela's weapons. His stomach sinks. Hela may be powerful, but she is nothing against _six _Infinity Stones.

Hela's head tips, and there's something predatory in her stance. "Every broken bone on him is a severed body part on you. Remember that."

"Your threats mean nothing to me."

"They should." Hela's words are dark and hate-filled. She doesn't seem to care any longer about trading threats back and forth.

Thanos laughs, like causing pain is something _funny._ "You couldn't save your youngest sibling, so now you will pretend you can save the other?"

_Loki?_

_Loki is dead? _Hela found him? She and Thanos have already met? Apparently near Loki's...Loki's corpse.

Undeterred, Hela spins her blades, but refuses to leave her protective stance over him. Thanos sighs softly, "This day has taken many tolls." Thanos explains. Quietly. Mournfully. Hela's seems to stiffen, but it's hard to see in the dark. "You must look toward the future now, my child. Your gratitude will provide the healing you so desire."

There's something in his throat. It's not saliva. It's...oh. That's blood. That's a lot of blood. That can't be good.

"Gratitude?" Hela repeats. Her voice is low.

"Of course." Thanos says, "The strongest sacrifices need the greatest wills. I will do this universe a service once you stop hunting me across this ship. I know that. It's only a matter of time before you know that, too."

Thor's stomach clenches, a horror setting into the small space between his heart and his lungs. Loki. _Loki. _Loki can't be dead. Thanos didn't kill him. He can't-_he can't-_

_Thanos has the Tesseract._

_They are just fooling themselves in thinking anything else happened._

Hela releases a roar. All calm exterior falls away and she _leaps _at Thanos. She disappears into the dark, and from Thor's jerked position, he can't see anything beyond the bursts from the Infinity Stones.

He doesn't feel right.

His lungs are…

_He doesn't feel right._

Something-Hela-smashes into a wall a few feet from him and Thor tries to prop himself onto his elbow to fight. His lungs scream and Thor feels something collapse inside, a sort of wetness spilling out, but it's not anything exterior. He coughs, spitting more blood onto the floor. He doesn't...this..._he can't breathe. _Hela moves again and Thanos releases a shout of pain.

"Your skill with a blade is admirable." Thanos says through gritted teeth. Light flares brightly, purple-Power-and Hela is thrown beyond his sight. A body skiffs across the ground, and Thor hears Hela release an annoyed breath.

A shadow falls over him and Thor jerks his head, seeing Thanos above him. A panicked noise slips from his throat and he grabs at lightning desperately, feeling the familiar hum of it through his bloodstream and blindly smacks the ground to feel for Thanos's boot.

He misses. The fire raging through his blood makes him cough, spitting up something else. _Sedir is a form of blood you idiot, _Thor hears Loki chide from a memory years ago. If Thor is bleeding out, he also loosing his ability to use the lightning.

Thanos lifts up his hand. In the faint light he grins, bloody and crooked. He looks at Thor first as if sharing some sort of secret before turning his gaze towards where Thor knows Hela must be. The Titan's fingers lift, thumb and third finger pressing together. They begin to slide, slowly, ever so slowly-because time has lost meaning and Thor can't breathe-down.

_We win exactly zero._

They never make it any further. Hela's bony fingers wrap around the Gauntlet, halting the descent.

Her nose is gushing blood and there's an awful wound on the side of her face where bruising has already begun to blossom. It looks like someone punched her. Her hands tremble at the force to keep Thanos from moving, but she holds steady. Thor's vision is blurring, but it's enough to see this.

"You only wane the inevitable." Thanos draws, eyes narrowed as he fights against her. "Don't fight this."

Hela's expression shifts, something almost mirthful dancing up the edges of her face. Her lips remain pressed together, but he can see the creases ease. The Infinity Gauntlet begins to crack, going gray. It's dwarven metal, Thor realizes. It doesn't age like others. It's not like Earth's iron that will rust. As dwarven metal ages, it becomes _rock._

It's how Hela destroyed Mjolnir. She aged it until it became a pile of stones at their feet.

She's doing the same thing to the Gauntlet. Her arms tremble beneath the force, but he can see how her nails are digging in, and how the metal is beginning to go age and decay. Thanos's eyes are widening with surprise.

"It's such a shame." Hela's teeth, when she smiles, are stained red. "To have come so close and fail all the same. I hope that you suffer in damnation."

Thanos smirks. Hela looks confused for a breathtaking moment before Thanos brings his other fist up and grabs her around the throat. Hela jerks, hands flying to the fist by instinct before Thanos throws her. There's a crack, and Thor doesn't hear anyone get up. "_No!" _The word tears from his lips despite everything, and his hand reaches for the Titan weakly. He still can't breathe. His bones are digging into where they should not. It hurts, Norns, it _hurts. _Hela. _Hela, Hela-_

Thor buries panic, coughing up something else. He makes it as far as his knees before he collapses forward.

Thanos releases several wet pants, "At last," he says, the Stones rising in the dark as if Thanos's is raising his fist triumphantly. "I have waited so long for this."

He snaps and Thor inhales sharply, waiting for the end, for the destruction for-

And-nothing.

_Nothing?_

The world doesn't fold beneath the demand, the very fabric of the universe bending beneath the weight of Thanos's commands. Instead, the Gauntlet, more rock than metal, cannot hold for the demand. It crumples to ash and the Stones fall harmlessly to the floor. They clatter and Thor watches them, flabbergasted for a moment. Thanos..._won, _but he lost. He snapped, but it did nothing. He _won._

But he didn't _win._

They didn't stop him from snapping.

His snapping just did _nothing._

Hela releases a chocked laugh, somewhere off to his left. "Simpleton."

"How-!?" Thanos's voice is filled with rage. Thanos leans down to pick up the Stones and holds them in his hands, only to drop them with a yell of agony. "_YOU _could not stand in the way of my destiny!" Thor hears footsteps moving towards where Hela's voice sounded. His sister releases a choking noise a moment later. "I'll admit that I do not take pleasure in death, but you...I will find this very enjoyable."

"_Loki_!_" _Hela manages to gasp out. Thor's brow flickers with confusion, because she sounds more annoyed than like she's whispering her final words.

A thread of green light whips across the hall, wrapping around Thanos's arm. Thor's breath catches in his throat. The scent of cinnamon and pine splits across the space before the arm is yanked sharply backwards and Hela crumples to the floor. Thor sees, with some amusement, that Thanos's face has paled. The thread releases, only for a blast of power to slam against his chest. Thanos goes flying down the hall, slamming into the bodies scattered there, flying past the source of the spell.

Thor's heart clenches in his chest. There, barefoot, without his armor and looking far worse for wear, is Loki, without his Jotun skin. His face is bloody and bruised, and he's leaning heavily on his right leg, but is _alive._

"You're late." Hela accuses, her voice hoarse. Loki moves forward, and Thor watches him as if in a dream as his brother helps their sister to her feet. Thor wants to laugh with relief, but his vision is beginning to go fuzzy and he doesn't know if he'd be able to catch his breath again if he did.

"I had trouble getting down the hall." Loki says flatly. The sound of his voice nearly drives Thor to tears. It's raspy and deep, but _Loki. _Thor's head drops, the urge to flatten out and accept this as the end powerful. _He can't breathe. _"I can't walk, if you'd be so kind to remember."

_Ka-thump, thump, pah-thump._

Thor spits. Will his mouth ever be rid of blood? Is he...is he dying? _Of course he's dying. _His ribcage is broken. He would be dead if he was Midgardian. A hand touches his shoulder and Thor winces, but his body is too exhausted to flinch back. He looks up and sees his younger brother awkwardly kneeling down next to him. His left calf is bent out shape, wrapped hastily with what looks like Hela's cape. He's pale and shaking. He looks like death. And his palm is glowing. Magic. _Loki is using sedir._

Thor stares. Loki tilts his head slightly, reaching out a pale hand to touch at his face. Thor moves before he can make contact, lurching up in a fit of strength he didn't know he possessed and wrapping his arms around Loki desperately. A sob of relief and pain escapes him. "I-I thought you were dead."

"You do that a lot. Norns, I would think you'd have more faith in me by now." Loki chides quietly, but his grip is just as tight. Thor chokes on a laugh and feels his strength leave him. He collapses back and Loki struggles with his weight before laying him down on the floor and cursing openly. Thor's breath are harsh gasps. He doesn't feel right.

Loki's eyes are wet. Thor thinks that he's crying. Loki twists back and raises his other hand, summoning something to him. The Time Stone slams against his palm a moment later and Loki jerks, the rush of power nearly causing him to fall over. Hela supports him, saying something. Chiding. Sound is beginning to fuzz out. Loki shakes his head, and clenches the Stone, forming the green ring around his wrist. Hela has to support him, but Loki twists his hands and Thor feels his body snap back together.

Ribs slip into their proper locations, bones moving backwards like nothing happened. Blood runs down his throat, slipping back to its designated place. Wounds close. The entire process takes less than five seconds and his mouth opens in a voiceless scream of agony when Loki is finished, rolling onto his back and shuddering. He makes a gagging noise, trying to get his hands to stop tingling.

But he breathes.

In. A deep, long, painless breath.

His hearing clears and his vision returns. He looks up at his siblings and sees them watching him, something panicked in their expressions. Thor stares for a moment, wondering if this is irony, or simple fate. Thor saved them from Surtur so many months ago, and they save him from Thanos.

Thor releases another pant, gasping, and then shakes his head. "_Ow." _He clutches his side. "Offer a bit of a warning next time?"

Loki laughs, but it's in desperate surprise.

"ASGARDIANS!" Thanos roars, and all of them flinch, twisting to look down the hall where Thanos is standing. Loki's light offers enough to make out figures in the dark, but not enough to count. Thanos's missing army. Right. "Surrender the Stones to me or suffer death's blade."

They have the Stones? Who...Thor looks up and sees Hela holding the remaining five in one open palm like they're simple rocks. Thor rubs at his forehead, trying to ease the headache building behind his temples.

The three of them rise up to their feet. "Take it from our corpses." Hela challenges.

"So be it." Thanos rages. "I showed you mercy. You have refused it. Now you will suffer the consequences."

"No," Hela says, taking a step forward and spinning her sword. "No, I think that will be _you."_

Loki draws his knives. Thor pulls on the lightning and allows it to spill between his fingers. The three of them waver for a moment before diving forward. The battle is short, but bloody. The taste of charred flesh lingers in his nose and makes his mouth taste like ash. Everything is going well enough, until-Thor doesn't see how-Thanos manages to get hold of one of the Stones.

The blast of power throws them backward. Thor lands hard enough that he can't quite catch his breath. He lays on his back for a moment, gasping and panting, until a shadow falls over him. Thanos is standing above him again. Rage licks at his features. He's holding a heavy, overbalanced sword. Loki throws himself on top of Thor, trying to protect him from the worst. Thor's hands frantically move, trying to shove him off. The lights of the hall flicker with Thor's panic.

The sword swings, but Hela releases a yell and a roll of power washes over them. Loki buries himself further against Thor like he can protect them from it.

Thanos drops dead. The entire army drops, lifeless. The silence screams in the absence of the sound.

Thor breaths harshly, gripping Loki's shoulders, and gently shoving up to a seated position. Loki follows him, the two of them twisting to look back at Hela. Her left hand is raised, her right tucked close against her stomach, clearly broken from the impact. The Stones lay scattered at her feet. What just happened...that was all _her. _Thor thinks of the man from Fire Sweets, dead before she touched him.

Hela releases a gasping noise, something between a sob and a scream. She stumbles towards them and wraps her arms around them tightly. Thor grips her in return, burying his face against his sister's shoulder. Loki does the same beside him. Hela clutches at them like if she lets go they'll fall apart.

"We're okay," Thor promises, "we're okay. We're going to be okay."

"I thought..." Hela trembles.

"It's alright," Loki assures, his tone soft, "we're all alright. You can't get rid of that easily."

Thor allows himself to relish in this moment. Broken, bruised, and laying among a battlefield in the dark, they are a mess. But Thor doesn't care. They made it out of this. Thor closes his eye and exhales, allowing himself to relax.

He found his family.

They're going to be fine.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End.
> 
> I might write a aftermath chapter, but it's a fifty-fifty depending on how my motivation fluctuates.. That aside, thank you so, so much for your support and encouragement throughout this journey. Thank you for reading, your interest is food for my soul. :) You're all amazing, please don't forget that! Thanks again to GliderPilot for letting me write this request for them!
> 
> Look at chapter 19 of Avengers: The Rubbish Bin for deleted scenes and alternate endings. 
> 
> Until the next story! (Or the maybe-aftermath chapter.)
> 
> Lots of free virtual cake and hugs!
> 
> -GalaxyThreads


	13. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left lotsa loose ends. I just...couldn't keep pushing. Sorry. So. Here I am. Attempting to fix the mess I left behind. This might be part of one of two, but that depends on whether or not I can think of anything I'd like to add. I'm 98% sure that I'm done though. *tired grimace*
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and interest! I hope you enjoy. You're all amazing. Please don't forget that.
> 
> Please remember to stay safe and healthy.
> 
> Warnings: PTSD, injury, some mentions of gore.

* * *

_"Did I tell them all enough, how much I care?_

_What if I do something wrong? _ _What if I can't be there?_

_Did you know I'm crazy?_

_You're about to see now; j_ _ust how quick my waters running out,"_

-The Hound + The Fox, "Quarantine"

* * *

Thor can't sleep.

He refuses to.

The events of the last year (_years) _are branded to his eyelids, and every time he closes his eyes he sees them all. His mother's murder, his brother's failed deaths, his father withering away, other deaths, the burning, the sensation of Hela tearing out his eye, then Thanos snapping his ribcage. He's _jittery. _He doesn't feel quite right at any time, but he doesn't even know how to begin to explain that anytime he thinks about trying to sleep—those nightmares, _all those nightmares_ that are more memories, and he's supposed to pretend that waking is better—he feels anxious and sick. But Norns, he's exhausted. He wishes that he could conk himself over the head with something, just so he could stop hearing himself _think. _The memories hurt, the shaking of his hands makes him feel weak and cowardly.

He wants to go home. Asgard home. Asgard, where he could sleep. Before Ragnarok came in and dragged a forked knife across his sense of normalcy.

He's so tired.

But he can't sleep. (_Maybe he won't. He doesn't know anymore. What does he know?)_

000o000

In the end, their journey to Earth via the self-proclaimed "Guardians of the Galaxy" is rather anti-climatic. He'd expected a little more hostilely, maybe outright animosity, but the only thing they do is give them a brief once over and the talking raccoon mutters, "they smell worse than Quill," before offering them accommodations. The group is...strange, if Thor is being honest, but he recognizes himself and the Avengers within them. The family that would die before they claimed themselves anything of the sort.

A little grumpy, tired, and all around worn-out, Thor takes the offered space to sleep without complaint, curling up on the hard cot without a word and only waking somewhat when his siblings join him in the room. Loki has bandages wrapped around his wrists now, but is still walking with a limp and looks like he's been pummeled by a mountain. Hela is bruised and has hastily cleaned blood wiped off, but all of them are still battle-worn, battle-stained, and all around covered in grime from the last few days.

Thor watches through half lidded eyes as Loki slumps down beside him, leaning back on the wall in a strange way as to not pull on his neck. The position looks far from comfortable, and Thor has his doubts that _he_ would fall asleep, but Loki manages without a problem. Maybe it's less sleep and more unconsciousness. Thor's tempted by the same urge.

Hela doesn't shift into a position of ease, sitting cross legged and facing the door, a sword laying on her lap. Standing guard, even though they're safe. The bag she stole from the Guardians containing the Infinity Stones is resting at her hip.

Thor realizes with a small groan that they're going to have to figure out what to do with the bloody things now.

But not right now. Right now, Thor rolls over miserably, buries his head into his hands and allows the sound of the two of them breathing to lure him to sleep.

It doesn't last. He wakes, panting and gasping, a hand against his chest as he feels the phantom stings of his breaking ribcage. He holds a hand against the area and tries to breathe, but he can't and he's going to _suffocate _and it's not getting better. It hurts. He's dying. He's dying and Thanos is going to win, and Loki will die and Hela and he'll have sat here and done nothing but _die._

He wheezes, a gasping wet noise.

He keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he'll see when he opens them.

His hand pushes against his ribcage. Trying to inflate it.

A hand touches his shoulder and Thor flinches. He shies away and tries to curl in on himself in protection.

Hands slowly wrap around his shoulders and pull him upright and Thor blinks his eyes open, trying to breathe again, and looks up at Hela's blank face. Thor doesn't try to fight her about this. He suddenly feels like a child again, frightened and easily skittish before he was forced to grow up and save himself. Thor crumples and cries into Hela's shoulder. Harsh, grating things that make his entire body ache.

Loki's unconsciousness must not have been quite as deep as Thor first suspected, because his hand rests on Thor's back a moment later.

They breathe.

Hela shifts so she's leaning against the wall, but doesn't relinquish her hold, even when he calms enough to breathe without worrying that his chest is going to collapse. Thor falls asleep slumped against her shoulder, her head on his, and Loki's head on his lap, but all of them are uneasy.

Thor can't get the sound of his ribcage snapping to stop echoing in his ears. It haunts his dreams, running amok the death and murder delved out in huge portions.

It's the first night that he regrets sleeping. It isn't the last.

000o000

When he wakes, stiff and with a headache to rival some of the worst hangovers he's ever had, the Guardians feed them some of their meager rations and Tony frets over Thor as afraid all the blood on him belongs _to _Thor. But the Time Stone did it's work, and Thor only bears the small cuts and bruises from the battle to kill Thanos.

Still, though, Thor notes that Hela watches him and Loki as if the smallest wind will make them vanish, and though the stare is disconcerting, he ignores it as best he's able; turning instead to answer the questions Strange and Tony have for him, finding a small nook in the space for a semblance of privacy. He keeps his sister and brother within sight. It's a rather easy task, given that Loki is slumped against Hela, never seeming to _not _be tired, sleeping deeply and she's admiring one of the Guardians—Drax, was it?—knives, discussing with him the craftsmanship.

"I still don't know how you took on an entire freakin' army by yourselves," Tony grumbles once Thor has finished.

Thor shrugs, "We're children of Asgard." He doesn't say Odin. He doesn't know if he ever will again. He doesn't want to claim himself a part of anything that Odin did or became. Even if the man sired him, it means very little in the realm of who Thor will claim a father.

"You were half dead," Tony points out, as if that should explain everything. But honestly, Thor has fought with less strength and arrived out mostly unscathed.

"We were supposed to be completely dead," Thor then turns to Strange, who looks a little flustered and quickly flicks his gaze to the floor. Tony presses his lips together as if thinking over the words the man told them, and wondering the same thing Thor is. Why on the Nine would he _lie? _Why? For something this big, this life-altering? He insisted that he had viewed all the possibilities, seen everything and come up with a total of zero.

That doesn't...

Tony nudges Strange's boot with his own. Even though his voice is even, his eyes are cold when he asks, "Got something you want to say, Merlin?"

Strange's head lifts, something hot in his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about." He starts to get up. Thor makes a scoffing noise despite his, admittedly weak, efforts to hold it back.

"I think you do." Tony interrupts. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like an explanation. I mean, not that I mind liars, but I think that given the circumstances, truth would have been nice." The words might have been funny, but Tony whispers them like a threat.

Strange turns then, boring his gaze into Tony, and then Thor. "You know why I did it."

No. He doesn't. That's why he asked. Despite what Strange would like to pretend of them, Thor isn't omniscient. Thor blinks, then demands a little harder than he meant to, "How _would_ I?"

Strange flicks his gaze to the left, where Spider-Man is talking intimately with the only woman in the group—Mantis? Mantis—so Tony and Thor follow his gaze and Thor feels his jaw slide somewhat. Spider-Man? How could a youth from Earth, not even an adult by their standards warrant _that?_

"_Peter?" _Tony squawks quietly. He gets to his feet, indignant. "Are you telling me that _Peter _would have single-handedly—"

"No. _You," _Strange interrupts. He stares Tony down, somehow seeming to tower over the other Avenger. "You are the most reckless, self-sacrificing idiot I have ever known. The moment that you knew that the odds were even _marginally _better than what I told you, you would have thrown yourself into the fire."

Thor's stomach sinks, realizing the truth of those words. New York. Sokovia.

"But it's not your time," Strange shakes his head, sighing quietly. Then he lifts his gaze to Thor. "And I wasn't lying. You know as well as I that the Time Stone is not a reliable prophet. I didn't _know _what was going to happen. I could only hope that what I saw was wrong. I asked the Stone to show me the end of the path to when or _if _Thanos snapped. You said he did. By all accounts, the Stone and _I _considered this a win by his hand. I never considered the possibility that the snap would be pointless."

Thor frowns, but Tony still looks furious.

"You were going to save me and sacrifice Thor and Hades into the fire? That's very generous of you."

Strange looks pained. "I did what I had to."

Thor's feels like someone punched him in the stomach. "You...how could you do that? My sister didn't—"

"I _gave _her the Time Stone. I raised your odds as best as I was able, but I suspected that none of you would leave. As I told your sister, I didn't recognize this timeline. I've seen thousands, Thor, do you honestly believe that with _all _of them being considered failures, I would have a single line burned into my memory? I've seen us fail sixteen million times. There was no stopping it." Strange tries to placate. His lips twist. "I'm no more happy with it than you are."

"You sent us to our deaths." Thor accuses.

"I sent us all." Strange says solemnly and tucks his arms around himself. He shakes his head. "I had to," he looks at Tony, "but even if I had known there was a chance, I would have kept it from you. You are not a lamb to be slaughtered the moment we need a sacrifice. Peter needs you, as does Earth."

"You sent them as a distraction. You all but pulled the trigger." Tony's voice holds an emotion Thor can't place. Oddly, the words warm him, despite the circumstances.

Strange closes his eyes, "But the bullet missed."

Yes, well, that doesn't really fix the problem that Strange _wielded _the gun in the first place.

But even as much as Thor hates it, he knows the truth behind Strange's words. He himself argued with it yesterday—today? Norns, when _was _that?—but he hadn't really expected anything to come of it. But it makes sense. To ask for the alternate path of _every _possibility, the Time Stone would take a shortcut. Strange would have no way of knowing that Thanos's _win _wasn't a win. If he had all the Stones and snapped, it was a win.

Thor realizes then, how very, very low the odds were of him walking away from that.

How low the odds were for _everyone _to walk away from it.

000o000

When they get closer to Earth, Quill and one of Thanos's daughters, Nebula, argue vehemently for the Soul Stone, apparently convinced they can trade it for Nebula's sister, Gamora. Thor has heard of such instances happening before, but he can't cite a source and Loki looks a little sick at the idea. Thor suspects that once Loki claimed the throne he did a much deeper study of the Infinity Stones than he and Thor ever received in their education.

After much arguing, they all finally come to an agreement about the matter. The Soul Stone is safest with its guardian, even if it means that they'll no longer have access to it. Thor wracks his brain with what to do about the other Stones. They've caused nothing but misery for the lot of them, and don't seem intent on stopping any time soon.

On top of that, they're making the Midgardians and some of the Guardians sick. Nebula and Quill seem relatively fine, but Thor knows that long-range exposure of the Stones can be like Midgardian radiation poisoning. Even after two days, Thor has a persistent headache that won't leave, and Loki's hands refuse to stop trembling.

He and his siblings have privately discussed destroying them, but Thor doesn't know what that would do long-term. They've been here since the beginning of the universe. They _are _the universe. The very thread that holds it all together, and their destruction may very well have long-term consequences that none of them want to deal with.

And they don't have a vault to simply throw it in and forget about for the next thousand years until they cause some other problem.

They go around in circles for hours about this. Arguing. Ideas thrown and discarded. The thought of letting them wander free is mutually unwanted, but Thor doesn't know what to _do. _Thor wishes that the remaining five had their own protection like the Soul Stone. But he doesn't even know how to do that.

But if there _was, _then that would put more roadblocks in the way of anyone who wanted to duplicate Thanos.

"Jotunheim," Hela pops out finally, seeming beyond irritated and both he and Loki stop, looking up at her. Hela releases an agitated noise, confirming Thor's quiet suspicions. She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees. "They have sacred temples. And guard. Most importantly, they won't use it for anything stupid."

Thor's throat runs dry. He _tries _to keep an open mind, but thousands of lessons from dozens of different tutors, his father, friends, books he read...everything within him refuses to trust the Jotuns with anything more difficult than scavenging for food. He's been taught they were bloodthirsty barbarians since he could listen.

He looks towards his sibling, but realizes that Loki is watching him warily. Almost as if he expects Thor to release a violent backlash.

Thor realizes with a jolt that they're looking _to _him. He's their king. They're treating him like it. This is what he was trained from birth to do, but he hasn't felt prepared for this position since he took it. Still doesn't. Months have gone by. He wonders if this will ever fade.

He clears his throat, clenching his fists. "That...we can try that." He concedes and tries not to be hurt by the actual flicker of _surprise _that flashes through Hela's expression. He breathes out and lets his mind run ahead, planning. He's always been a man of action, planning continuously felt tiresome and monotonous to him. But he needs to do this now. He has to adapt. This is who he is now.

"We can scatter the remaining five through the Nine," he suggests, "we have allies in all the worlds. I'm certain they would understand our needs. Jotunheim among them. Probably not Nidavellir, but Vanaheim, and Alfheim…" Thor trails off, waiting.

Hela nods, leaning back. "Keeping them together would be foolish."

"So it's settled." Loki's voice holds a tone of finality.

Thor looks to the small bag in the center of all of them. The thrumming headache behind his skull reminds of the need for this and he sighs, nodding. "I'll talk with—" He stops. Oh. That's right. He dissolved the council before running after Loki. Who _will _he talk with now? He's...going to have to put them together when he gets back to his people. "—I'll make preparations for travel," he corrects himself.

"If I may," Hela interjects, "I'd like to take the Stone to Jotunheim myself."

Thor rubs his thumb over his knuckle, knowing _why, _but hesitant to admit the truth to her. Loki pull his gaze away, suddenly looking sick. Norns, Thor sometimes forget how fast his mind is. Thor rubs harder. "Please. But...but sister, if you are expecting to talk with Laufey…"

Loki clenches.

Thor forces the words out, "You will be disappointed. He has been dead for several years." There. It's out in the open, without condemning anyone as his murderer. He doesn't even know how much Hela knows about the circumstances of his first, failed coronation. He and Loki haven't spoken of it since Surtur.

Hela's expression flickers. Grief. Then she steals herself. "I see." That's it. No demands on how it happened, no anger, no sadness. Just a flat tone, like she's remarking on the weather. Loki anxiously rubs his thumb across his palm, eyes wild, but face so, _so _tired.

"It was me," Loki whispers, even though no one demanded that he admit his guilt.

Hela's gaze stares at him, hard. Waiting.

Loki swallows, still looking down at the floor. The Infinity Stones hum between them. Thor rubs at his knees anxiously wishing that he had something to say. "There was...circumstances arose and I thought...thought it would be better if he...I'm sorry, sister. I know he meant something to you."

Hela is quiet. "Did you know? That he was your father?"

Loki twitches. He closes his eyes, something like shame flitting across his face. Thor almost startles at it. It's the first indication he's ever received from his sibling of regret for what happened on Jotunheim. "Yes,"

"Then _why—!?" _Hela's voice drops the anger suddenly. Almost as if all the fight had drained from her. She shakes her head slowly and releases a long, worn sigh. "He should have meant something to you, too," Hela sighs, and gets to her feet. "He wasn't my father. He was yours."

Loki looks a little sick. Thor can guess on why, but he suspects it's the same reason Thor is. Laufey left Loki to die. He was hardly the father that Loki…Unless Laufey _didn't, _and Loki was a prisoner of the war that ended when he was born.

"I'm sorry." Loki whispers. His eyes are still closed. "I didn't understand."

Hela stares at him for a moment, something puzzled on her face before it darkens abruptly. "You did it for Odin, didn't you?"

"I did," his brother's voice is barely audible.

Hela simpers, but it isn't happy. "Well." She doesn't say anything else. The heavy syllable hangs in the air before Hela turns and exits the room. Thor watches the exchange with something tight in his chest.

Loki lifts the back of his hand to his mouth. He opens his eyes and looks towards Thor, breathing out heavily. "I killed my father," he says. Thor doesn't understand his tone. There's grief there, and certainly disgust, but it's also a little broken. Loki's eyes are wet. "I didn't even know him, and I..._Norns._"

"There was a war going on," Thor says softly, trying to think coherently as his headache spikes for a moment. "You were trying to lessen causalities. That war was Laufey's not the Jotun's. Without him, they backed down."

Loki laughs, dark and bitter. "I don't know what I was doing. And I killed the one person our sister has ever regarded highly because of that."

000o000

When Thor finds Hela later, her eyes are red and it's obvious she's been weeping. Mantis is sitting across from her, antennas twitching slightly as she talks quietly with Thor's sister. It's mindless prattle, but Hela doesn't hear her. Her gaze is distant, eyes lost and posture defeated.

Six years earlier, and Hela would have had the chance to see Laufey again. But none of this would have happened if the events around the whole mess had been jumped over.

Maybe that would have been for the better.

Norns, this _hurts._

If Loki and Hela have a conversation about what happened, he doesn't see it. He doesn't suspect that they do. Hela seems to grudgingly shoulder this through and Loki is quieter than normal for a few more days. They don't speak until they do, one moment they're not speaking and Hela is simmering silently with a fury not directed at his brother, but Odin, the next she breaks the silence and that seems to be that.

_(Very privately, Thor wonders if Laufey would have even remembered who Hela was. Odin's memory spell swept through more than just Asgard. Loki may have done her a service, because surely it would have hurt more to have been forgotten than to never see someone again.)_

Thor notices something odd about Loki, though, as he watches them throughout this long journey: he doesn't use magic. Not once. His brother has relied less and less on it throughout the years, but he still wields it like he does breath. He knows that Loki _can _use it—how evades him, but neither Hela nor Loki will give him a straight answer when he asks—he just...doesn't.

It's weird.

_As weird as you not sleeping? _A snide voice questions in the back of his mind. Thor bites on his inner cheek and shrugs it off. He _notes _it, but he doesn't act on it. Maybe if he did, he would have saved them all some grief.

000o000

They arrive on Earth. Thor meets his people there and deals with all the messy politics that follow, an exhaustion settling deeply into his bones. He hardly feels alive, and more like a routine. Eventually, the Norwegian government agrees to grant them land on the edge of their territory and he and his people take it with thankful tears.

Thor asks Brunnhilde, Korg, and a few other Asgardians to take the Stones to the realms and ask for their help as Loki and Hela travel to Jotunheim, earlier animosity forgotten. They eventually return cold, but Hela looks somewhat elated, even if Loki looks like he got kicked in the shins and didn't quite shake it off. Thor can barely spare a moment to talk with them, even if he wants to know more of their travels. Jotunheim was asked to look after the Tesseract.

(Thor thought it was only fair. The Casket of Ancient Winters was their only means of realm travel. The Tesseract can serve them well and hopefully they can open up better trading routes than what they have. He wants to repair the damage his father did, but he doesn't even know where to _start._ This is somewhere, a grievance a thousand years old, but it's _somewhere._)

Setting up the kingdom, even with the aid of sedir, takes weeks. Thor looks back one evening and realizes they've been on Earth for four months, but he can barely remember enough to fill a week. He thinks of the blurred days and the even blurrier nights. (_He still can't sleep. Won't. The nightmares are worse, and he chokes on air that should be easy to breathe.)_

Yes, he decides, four months sounds about right.

Matters of state take hours and longer than his energy can hold out for. He appoints a new council and as his people slowly settle into their new lives, Thor feels something in him slowly begin to release with relief. They're alive and as happy as they can be, Thor hasn't failed them.

He hopes.

000o000

"Thor," Loki asks one morning, looking up from the cup of tea he's been staring into since Thor stumbled into the kitchen. Probably longer than that, judging by how cold the cup is.

Thor hums in question, squinting at the back of a box of...something and trying to get his brain to process the words so he can know how to prepare it.

Loki sighs. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

Thor gives up on the box and sets it down, looking up at his sibling properly for the first time. Loki is bare-footed and his hair a mess. Thor wonders if he ever _left _the room during the night. His eyes are shadowed deeply. He looks troubled.

"Brother?" Thor moves to the table and takes a seat next to him. The cup has clumps of something floating in it. Thor doesn't want to think about the implications of that. "What's amiss?"

Loki's mouth twitches. He still won't look at Thor, gaze pinned on the wood. "Nothing of consequence, I didn't mean to disrupt you. Please. I know you're busy."

Busy. _Busy?_

Yes, Thor has been running ragged from one thing to the next, in a perpetual state of ready-to-collapse and so high off of energy he feels like he's been drinking Midgard's caffeine pure. But he's...he's not _ignorant; _nor too busy to offer the comfort Loki looks he needs.

Thor remains where he is. He narrows his eyes, and then sits back, blowing out a long breath. "Look, I know that I've been a little...preoccupied these last few weeks, but that doesn't mean that I can't—"

"We haven't spoken in two weeks. Did you know that?" Loki looks up. His eyes are sharp, but red and wet. His tone wasn't even angry, just resigned.

Thor blinks. "No. That can't be right. Surely…" he stops. His mouth twists into something unhappy as he tallies the days and the hours, working back through the mush and mess and realizes that Loki is probably right. A fortnight? They live in the same house. Thor sees Loki frequently, but...it...oh.

Loki exhales and then continues slowly, "You're running yourself to the ground. If you keep pushing this hard, one day you won't wake up. The _point _of a curia regis and advisers is to take some of the weight from your shoulders. You needn't do this alone."

Thor bites on his lower lip, flicking his gaze down. A part of him wants to rouse to the words and entice an argument, simply because his pride insists that Loki has just called him weak. But Thor is so tired of fighting. "I don't know how else to," he admits. "Father never taught me anything different."

"I know." Loki promises, that tight look on his face again. "But don't...don't…" Loki doesn't finish his thought. Thor wants to ask, but thinks better of it. Instead he tightens his grip on the wild chaos running around inside him and gives a thin smile. His smiles feel strange now. As if he's forgotten how to do it without straining his face and making him feel more tired than he was before.

(_But he won't sleep. He can't. No dreams, no dreams, no dreams.)_

The words fall flat, because they've had this discussion before. And Thor has already shifted as few responsibilities as he could without feeling like a coward. _A leader's job is to delegate, _Thor remembers Commander Tyr stating once, but that had always contradicted how his father ruled Asgard.

Thor thinks that this is the heart of the problem.

Talking about anything to avoid what the actual issue is. And even knowing what they're doing leaves him with a tired, worn feeling, but no real desire to stop it any time soon.

"Thank you for your council brother, I will take your words into consideration." Thor promises, and gets up to his feet. His balance strains for a moment as his vision tunnels, and Thor accidentally shoves into the table, hard. Hard enough that the cup Loki was drinking from spills over the edge and liquid begins to dump out all over the floor.

Loki catches it. With sedir, as he always does with something startles him. The liquid remains frozen in place, suspended in the fall, but not touching the floor. Thor expects, as Loki has always done, to simply wave a hand and place it back into the cup. He doesn't.

Loki releases a ragged noise, shoving back sharply into a staggering stand and the tea spills against the ground.

Thor eyes it, his brain trying to process what just happened. Why wouldn't Loki just use magic to fix this? Why would...?

Thor looks up, and sees that Loki is staring at the tea with wide-eyed horror, as if he'd just murdered something. His hands are trembling and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, moving towards the counter to look for paper towels. _Paper towels, _when his brother could just use magic and fix this. There's a tightness to Loki's step. An anxious jitter.

"Loki," Thor breaks from his stupor. "Loki, what are you doing?"

"Cleaning." Loki snaps.

"I can see that," Thor says, somewhat irritably. "Why don't you just use magic?"

Loki nearly drops the paper towel roll. He kneels down next to the spilled tea and hides his face behind strands of dark hair. Thor moves forward some, lifting up the cup and righting it on the tabletop. Loki soaks the tea into the paper towels, sounding like he's trying not to be sick or weep.

"Loki."

"No, Thor."

"_Loki."_

"_No."_

His patience thins. "Do you think I'm _blind?" _Thor demands instead of answering. "I know that you've been using your sedir little recently, and I want to know why."

Loki stills, muscles taut before he seems to break free from the timid mess he's been since this started. "What would you have me say!?" Loki exclaims, looking up at him harshly. He scrapes the paper towels against the floor and bunches them up, surging to his feet in a sharp motion. He throws the paper towels onto the table. "Would you have me explain how it felt to have my sedir _eating me apart _or how it felt when Hela—" he clamps up, as he or Hela always do regarding this subject.

It is a mystery that drives Thor insane.

"When Hela what?" Thor says in exasperation. "Will you _tell _me what happened? How she brought you back from a death sentence?"

Loki shudders, his mouth snapping shut. He shakes his head lowly. "You want to know why I'm not using it?" The words are delivered as a threat, but an obvious attempt at a subject change. "Because I am a coward. I'm so much of a coward that I'm afraid that the slightest use will rupture my heart and send me exactly back to where this started. There is a reason people don't survive sedir collapses, Thor." His tone is haunted.

Thor hates the morbid curiosity that wants to ask what it felt like. It's not his story to know.

Loki is _afraid of his sedir? _Something that has been with him since his birth? Something that their mother taught him in, the last memory he has of her? Sedir is as much a part of Loki as lightning is for Thor. This...it almost feels ridiculous, but Thor _understands. _As much as he can. It's...it's like the dreams. Thor needs sleep, but he'll go to Helheim and back before he does it willingly.

"I..." Thor can't come up with anything to say. This is apparently worse than blabbering. Loki's expression closes off on a barely controlled flicker of hurt. He clears his throat. "I see."

"No, you don't." Loki says.

He doesn't.

"I can try." Thor promises. "Just let me know how I can help, please. I've never heard of survivors to this, I just...I don't know what to do."

"It is my burden to bear," Loki's fingers clench around the cup. Tight. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

"But not alone." Thor insists. "Just...please?"

Loki's lips ghost a smile. He looks up towards Thor's face, all sharp angles, still. "Of course."

Thor's too tired to fight the lie. Instead, he pretends that he didn't pick up on it, and smiles with that fake, exhausting thing and tries to go about a normal routine where his head isn't whirring. Loki is afraid of himself. How is Loki ever going to get better if he's afraid of one of the things that used to bring him so much joy? How is Thor supposed to help this? It's bigger than him. Bigger than all of them.

Loki's eyes follow him across the room. Too late, Thor realizes as he's later stepping from their small home, did he think to ask why Loki had been there all night. Well, it's rather obvious. He wasn't okay.

Thor is not okay.

He doesn't think any of them are. But Norns, how good they are at faking it. Thor plasters that ugly smile on.

He doesn't sleep that night. This time he thinks of the horrified expression on Loki's face when he realized he'd caught the tea without meaning to, but Loki does fall apart. His magic collapses in Thor's dream, and he bleeds through his mouth and nose until he chokes, and Thor can do nothing but watch, knowing exactly what it feels like to drown in blood.

_No dreams. No dreams. No dreams..._

000o000

There are days that Thor feels his title is more a curse than blessing. Well, most days, today included. He doesn't even remember how it started, one moment he was trying to help two neighbors settle a dispute over sheep, the next one of Eir's aides is running up to him, breathless, and explains hurriedly about how there was a fight in the training ring and how "Commander Hela" had been stabbed.

Thor had offered her a position on the court as a Lady, maybe a duchess, but Hela had laughed and said the idea was ridiculous. Thor gave her charge of Asgard's meager army after some hesitation, and Loki the position of his head adviser. The jobs kept both of them busy, _all _of them busy, and busy meant no time for thinking.

No thinking meant weeks passed where they could pretend nothing was wrong.

And now Hela's gone and got herself stabbed.

There's more annoyance than worry building in him as he follows after the aide, long since assured of his sister's ability to recuperate after wounds that should have killed any other man. He bursts into the healing wing, flinging open a door with the aide scurrying inside before he locates his sister on a cot.

She's sitting up, gauze wrapped around her torso and dressed in a thin gray, sleeveless shirt. The sight strikes him as odd immediately. He doesn't think he's seen her show any more skin than her fingertips and face. Maybe her feet once or twice. But it's not that she's pale and bony that stops him nearly dead in his tracks. It's the _scars._

Up and down her arms, stitched and ugly. Most are battle wounds, some from Surtur, but as his gaze slips to her forearm he can see the awful mutilation where the dwarf metal hides inside. And Norns she's thin. Sickly. Thor didn't realize how much she hid behind the thick swathes of clothing until it's not there. Loki does the same. Hiding a slight figure beneath armor. Thor still remembers the way his spine had stuck out when he'd showed them the scars and—

Hela looks up from her crossed legs to him, a wane smile on her lips. He doesn't think he's ever seen her look more uncomfortable. "Hello, brother."

Thor blinks. Then he breathes. And then he remembers why he's here. "Are you in mortal danger?" he questions. His tone sounds far more flat than he meant for it to be.

Hela quirks her lip and tilts her head, dark hair falling over her shoulder. It hides some of her left arm, but not enough. "Why? Are you concerned?"

"_Yes." _He grits out. He doesn't want to play this game today. He's running off of less than four hours of sleep in twice as many days and he's not in the mood for their usual banter. Hela looks a little confused at his tone. "What happened? Did you provoke it or did someone else?"

Hela shifts some and winces, hand straying to her side. "It was more of an accident than anything else."

_How do you accidentally get stabbed? _Thor bites back the incredulous query and instead says, "That doesn't answer the question."

His sister sighs, then pulls her gaze away for a moment. "I don't suppose you have a blanket I can borrow? My armor was a mess and Eir refused to let me keep it on." At that she makes an unhappy face, clearly wanting to add something, but doesn't.

Thor glances around for a moment, trying to spot the desired object, but having little success. He doesn't really want to go rummaging through everything. Thankfully, it was a little colder today than normal, so Thor had decided to bring his cloak. He unclasps it from his neck, fumbling with the buckle for a moment before sweeping it out and wrapping it around Hela's shoulders.

She grasps the edges and pulls it around her body tightly, sitting up a little straighter.

Thor frowns. He feels like he's been doing that a lot recently. He can't remember when he actually smiled last. Norns, if this is what his father felt all the time, it's little wonder he went off the deep end. Loki once called the crown a burden. Thor has never felt more inclined to believe that statement.

"Thank you," his sister's tone is soft. He looks up and she releases a tight breath before saying, "Heimdall and I were sparring. His sword slipped."

"_Slipped."_ Thor repeats dubiously. He looks at the bandages wrapped around her middle. That would explain why there's so many. Hofund is a thick blade. The wounds it creates are meant to be fatal. Heimdall knows that, and he's not an amateur with weapons. _Slipped. _What does that even _mean?_

Hela fiddles with the edge of the blanket. The action startles him somewhat, reminding him of, well, _himself. _It's an action that's almost childish in nature, but speaks of her discomfort more than anything else could have. There's something she's not saying. More to the story, he supposes.

Thor takes a seat on the edge of the cot, forcing himself to loosen. He is not her king. He is her brother. He doesn't need to treat her like a convicted criminal, nor serve as her judge and jury. She was stabbed. He's supposed to be helping.

"Yes. Slipped." Hela repeats, voice almost wistful.

Thor watches her for a moment, biting on his tongue before saying, "You're even worse a liar than I am." He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to be _right,_ but has to anyway, "Did he attack you?" He can't see Heimdall doing anything of the sort, but he can't rule out possibilities.

Hela looks startled. She raises her eyes from where they'd fallen down and squints, then shakes her head. "No. We were sparring, I told you. It was an acci—"

"—dent. Yes. But I've seen you with blades; I've _fought _you. Accidents like that don't happen. Not with you."

Hela is quiet. Stubborn.

Thor waits.

Then she sighs heavily and pins her gaze up so she doesn't have to look at him, wrapping her arms around herself. "Brunnhilde took me here," there's something mirthful about her tone, like that should be funny, "she promised if I didn't say something that she would murder me while I slept." She bites on her lower lip for a moment, "I was dizzy. I couldn't focus. When he brought his blade forward I...collapsed into it."

Thor stares. He doesn't understand. "How—_why—?"  
_

_How does _Brunnhilde_ know what's going on before Thor does?_

She and Hela _hate _each other.

...don't they?

Hela turns her face away now, clearly embarrassed. "It's the food. On Midgard. They've...it tastes strange. I can barely gag through it, but I've rarely gotten it to stay down." Thor feels mild horror wash through him. They've been here nearly five months. She's...has she eaten _nothing _since they got here? Why didn't she _tell _him? Thor remembers that at first he thought the food was poisoned, much to his mortification and the end of Selvig's temper, but it had passed after a while.

Thor manages to find his voice. "Why didn't you say anything to me? Please tell me that you haven't been running off of nothing this whole time?" Hela doesn't offer the reassurance. She instead looks towards the floor like if she does so for long enough it will grant her mercy and swallow her. Thor swallows thickly and tries not to be irritated as he asks, "Did you tell Loki?"

Hela shakes her head, then turns her head sharply towards him. "If you mention one _word _of this to him or Eir, I will not be responsible for the bodily harm I cause you."

"Then why did you tell _Val?"_

"She found me throwing up last week." Hela says, jaw taut, "She kept pestering me until I explained. If I didn't know her better, I might have labeled her as _concerned," _his sister's lip curls.

Thor throws up his hands. "_Throwing up? _I can't _not _say anything to Eir. You could have been killed, Hela. You collapsed, _in the middle of a fight, _how did you survive Helheim if a few months was enough time to—"

"I didn't." Hela is stiff now. Stiff and still, but radiating power and anger. She doesn't expand on the thought and Thor is afraid to ask. Her steal blue eyes lift to meet his. "You know that our father...gifted me with the spell that I could do no harm to myself?"

It slipped his mind, admittedly, given recent events. He gives a brisk nod anyway.

Hela gestures vaguely. "That's what this is. It's not my choice to run around with nothing. I must have a susceptibility to something they use to preserve their foods. Hence, the vomiting."

Oh._ Great._ He bites back a grimace and runs a helpless hand through his hair. "There must be something that can be done. Let me speak with Eir, I'm sure that you're not the only one bothered by it. The crops we planted aren't due for another few weeks, but we can find something. I'm sure of it."

Hela looks doubtful.

Thor tries not to be hurt by that.

She sighs wearily and tips her head back against the wall, his cloak still wrapped around her shoulders tightly. She looks exhausted. Thor kicks himself mentally for being such a fool. How could he have been so ignorant to not notice what was going on? He's been trying so hard to be what everyone needs, but how can he take care of a country if he can't even care for his family?

There's the sound of footsteps and Thor looks up before the door is opened and Loki bursts inside. "I heard what happened," he says shortly, walking up to Hela's side, "Eir explained. Are you well?"

Hela shoots him a warning look to keep his mouth shut, but gives Loki a tired smirk. "Dear brother, be careful. One could mistake your tone for concern."

Loki scoffs. "Merely annoyance."

That tired smirk grows while Loki studies her with his eyes. "Just a training accident is all. Happens to the best of us."

_Liar, liar. _But who is he to talk? (_No dreams, no dreams, no—)_

000o000

"You need a vacation," Brunnhilde tells him the next day. Thor looks up from the paperwork he's trying to shuffle through to the Valkyrie. He sighs tiredly and leans back against the chair wishing he could burn the paper rather than read through it.

"Do you want something?" he asks her. He's already irritable and they've exchanged only two sentences. This is going to be one of those days, then. He doesn't want to be frustrated, but he's still exhausted, and the events around Heimdall and Hela's squabble aren't helping. Especially the gossip that he heard spilling through the crowds.

He had managed to speak with Eir though—discreetly, because he fears for his safety if Hela is to ever learn of it—the one small highlight in this, and though the head healer hadn't promised an immediate fix, she _did _say she'd look into it. She had a remedy she'd been giving other Asgardians with similar problems—how has he not caught wind of this before? If there's an ailment going around, as _king, _Thor should know—but she doesn't know if it will fix Hela's particular situation. If it does turn out to be an allergy, and not just a fight past the gag reflex.

But still. That doesn't cure everything. It's not the simple solution he wanted to offer his sibling. But it has to be enough right now.

Brunnhilde smirks, sinking into the chair opposite the desk and lifting her feet up onto the wood. Her boots are dirty, and Thor shoots her a pointed look the Valkyrie seems to take great delight in pointedly ignoring. "No. Just wanted to check up on you."

Thor brushes some of the grim away and fiddles with his pen. "I'm doing fine, thank you. You can take your concerns to where they're actually warranted."

Brunnhilde lifts an eyebrow at that. "I'm pretty sure they're exactly where they need to be."

He sighs. Exhaustion eats him to his bones. The type of weariness no amount of sleep can help with. But he has to keep pushing and pulling and yanking himself through this. He's _king _now, not just prince. He's in charge of all these people. Their safety and stability rest on his shoulders. He can't just stop because he's a little tired.

Thor returns to the papers.

Brunnhilde tries at conversation again. "I heard what happened to Princess. Well, saw it actually. I helped carry her mangled body to Eir. She wasn't doing so well. Any change?"

_Mangled?_

He grunts.

"You're just in the mood for chatting today, aren't you?" the woman sighs. Thor scribbles his signature down on the bottom of the page, not entirely comprehending what he just agreed to, but needing something to do to avoid her.

"I'm busy."

"You usually are. Hence, vacation." Brunnhilde says.

"I'm fine."

"No, actually; you're not." Her tone has grown more serious, and Thor stares harder at the paper. The words are blurring. His headache is getting worse. She leans forward. "Listen, it's almost endearing how hard you're trying at this, but you need a break. Have you even slept since you landed?"

He twitches.

_No dreams, no dreams, no—_

"Probably." Thor assures. But he knows the dark rings beneath his eyes are getting harder and harder to hide. He flips the page, only to have Brunnhilde's hand slam down in the middle of it. He nearly startles backwards, but holds himself together and looks up at her. "_What?"_

She's scowling at him, but her voice is surprisingly benign when she says, "Go home, Thor. You need some sleep."

He shakes his head and then regrets it. He bites back a cry of pain and waits for the world to stop spinning so much before he meets her eyes again. He forces a smile. It hurts. "Really, Val. I'll be fine. I'll just finish this and then head home."

Brunnhilde doesn't move her hand. "Do I look stupid to you? You either go now or I knock you out and drag you there. Which one do you want?"

Thor waits, expecting her to back down. She doesn't. "You're serious."

"I don't think a punch will help your headache, Majesty." She almost says it sweetly. Now she's smirking. Thor scowls when he realizes there's really no way out of this. She's stubborn, and Thor lost the energy to fight her about two weeks ago.

He gets to his feet. Brunnhilde looks triumphant and all but shoves him out of the office.

Thor falls against his mattress, but waits for sleep to come and it doesn't. He's too exhausted to rest. (_No dreams, no dreams, no—)_

000o000

Loki is off...doing something, Thor doesn't know what, but Thor has just returned to the house when he hears a loud crash and muffled cursing. Hela was released from the healing wing yesterday and Eir had explained that she'd need a few days of rest, but should be back to normal before the week was out. Eir had also, not within the earshot of either of his siblings, said that without any energy for her body to _use, _Hela's healing would be considerably slackened.

Thor thinks about that. He knows the Helheim wasn't a bountiful place for food to blossom. Hela drew her strength from Asgard. Without that, now she's just as vulnerable as the rest of them. Thor can take a hit, but a stab like that would knock him down for a few days.

Eir hands him a tonic and tells him to have Hela report to her every other day until they can get the food situation solved.

Thor tiredly follows the source of the noise to Hela's room. The door is half open and Thor can see an open first-aid kit on the bed. Exhaustion is quickly replaced with concern and he pushes open the door completely, taking a step inside and—

Hela is standing next to the bed, shirt tugged up on her left side to reveal the wound as she wrestles with a needle and thread, applying stitches to pinched, angry skin. It's bleeding lazily. Thor gapes for a moment, trying to comprehend that she's _trying to give herself stitches _before swallowing his words of frustration and anger. Instead, he moves forward and catches her fingers.

She flinches, then looks up at him. Her expression clouds instantly.

"Let me," he offers and she sighs, but lets go of the needle and thread. Thor takes up where she left off. The majority of the stitches held, but it looks like something yanked on them sharply. A small voice in the back of his head says that he should take her to Eir, but he shakes it off. "What happened?"

"Fell up the porch stairs." Hela mumbles.

"Fell...you fell _up _a staircase?" Thor questions incredulously, unsure that he heard right.

"Well I didn't fall _down _it." Hela retorts sharply. "I felt the stitches pull."

The unspoken _why _floats through the air. Malnutrition. It's getting worse. Eir's tonic better do something, or Thor doesn't know what he's going to do.

"Norns," Thor sighs. He pulls a few more stitches through the skin before tying and snipping the string. "Turn, I need to look at your back."

She tenses. "I—I'll take care of it." Thor closes his eyes for a moment, trying to _will _patience forward. Thor has heard of some impressive feats of healing on the battlefield, but not once has he heard of successful stitches done by the injured on their back. He gives her a pointed look and Hela closes her eyes, resigned and turns slowly, keeping her shirt tucked up only enough to let him see the wound.

Thor runs his hands along the stitches. Nothing looks broken, but he wants to be sure. Hela grows more tense with his touch, almost skittish. He bites back any comment and determines that the stitches are intact. He moves back to her front and Hela drops the shirt, tucking her long sleeves over her hands.

He can feel her eyes on him as he begins to clean up. She seems confused, but not unhappy. "Thank you." She says after a moment. "It's much easier to have someone else do them."

Thor eyes her. She shrugs lightly, and then says like it is just a perfectly normal fact of life, "No one cared enough to do it before. Eir insisted, but I know that's only because of you. And I was unconscious by that point."

Thor chews on his inner cheek. "You wouldn't let them use sedir?"

A twitch. "It's only a few days. It's already much better than it was." Which isn't much of a consolation. It's still grotesque. "I didn't," she tugs at the sleeves again. Thor remembers the mangled scars on her arms and doesn't have to guess at what she was going to say. Hela is terrified of sedir, a quiet fear, but one that's there all the same.

Thor thinks of Loki, and his stomach twists with discomfort as he realizes he still has not seen his brother use any. Loki hasn't approached him about the topic. They've said nothing regarding it since the tea.

He closes the first-aid kit. "Just let me know if you need help with it again. Please?"

She nods.

Thor leaves the room and once in the privacy of his own slides down the door and tugs his legs up to his chest, breathing between his knees. His eyes burn, but he blinks them back harshly. He's not going to cry. He's king now. He's not even sure what he's so panicked about. He's just been dramatic. But there was blood.

There was so much blood.

Thor nearly drowned in his blood. Thanos crushed his ribcage and then nothing but blood bubbled up. Not air, not water. Just blood. He rubs his hands across his scalp, but the smell and the feeling won't leave him. His breath hitches several times as if trying to make it past the blood pooling there. But his throat is empty. He's not drowning, even if it feels like he is.

000o000

Loki is screaming.

Thor doesn't know the exact moment he connects the strange wailing noise with his younger sibling, but he's already moving before he does. Thor throws open the door to Loki's room, expecting some sort of threat, _something, _but there's nothing there but Loki curled in a tight ball and gasping on the mattress. He's sobbing.

The light clears from his vision, lightning settling inside him again.

Thor lingers in the doorway for a moment, but then blinks past his confusion and moves. "Loki," he whispers. Loki doesn't respond. Or even seem to hear him. His brother twitches, hands wrapping around his ribcage further, digging into his back.

The light from the hall offers enough to see by, so Thor leaves the door open. He reaches out a tentative hand to Loki's shoulder before laying it there. A twitch. "Loki," he whispers again, "Loki, it's alright. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you, I swear."

Loki still doesn't seem to realize he's there.

Thor sighs in sympathy before sitting on the edge of the bed and moving to start to gather his brother into his arms. Loki's head snaps up, something between a keen and a wail slipping through his teeth. "Don't—" he commands harshly, shuddering. "Please, I can't…"

"Loki," Thor keeps his voice as even as he can. "It's alright. I'm here. I won't let anything harm you."

Loki stares at him, squinting. Then recognition slowly settles and he breathes out sharply. In a voice that sounds young and tired, he asks, "Thor?"

He nods, trying to dredge up a smile. It isn't very successful.

Loki uncoils and sits up stiffly, blinking rapidly. He's crying quietly now, and Thor scoots across the mattress before he wraps his arms around his sibling and holds him. In a true testament to how unsettled he is, his brother doesn't even protest. Loki simply rests his head on Thor's shoulder, breathing out raggedly. Not crying, just breathing.

Thor works his fingers through Loki's hair. "It's alright. Nothing is going to happen. It's over." He whispers mindless things and tries not to think about how quickly Loki managed to find reality again. How many of these has he had? How many has Thor ignored simply because his brother wasn't loud enough?

Thor holds Loki until his younger brother slips into an unsteady sleep.

He settles him back down and throws a blanket over the thin frame, staring at him for a moment before exiting the room and pulling the door closed behind him. Movement catches his eye and Thor looks to his right where Hela is sitting against the wall in the hall, knees tucked up close to her chest. Thor stares at her for a moment, and she returns the favor.

"Have you been there this whole time?" he whispers.

Hela doesn't say anything, but that's enough of an answer. "Is he asleep now?"

"Tentatively," Thor answers, rubbing at his face. Hela gets up to her feet, her eyes still lingering on him. Thor begins to move back towards the living room, aware that if they have a conversation outside of Loki's room, they'll inadvertently wake him. Hela follows after him.

"Have you slept at all tonight?"

_(No dreams.)_

"Some," Thor settles on, instead of the honest answer of no. "Have you thrown up yet, or is Eir's medicine working?"

Hela tips her head. "This isn't about me."

Thor sinks heavily onto the couch. He stares at the paperwork again. It never seems to go away. He works and works at the pile, but it mutates and spawns new life when he's not looking. Even now, the stack seems far larger than what he left behind. Thor reaches for it.

Hela swipes the entire mess off the couch to the floor. He makes a sound of indignant protest, but it's meaningless. Hela sits down on the couch across from him, pointedly shoving some of the pieces away with her bare foot. Now they're scattered across the ground. It will take forever to organize.

Great.

Scowling, he looks up at her. She's guiltless. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I want to talk to you, not my king." She says flatly. Like there's a _difference. _Thor's about to make a point of that, but she slaps a hand over his mouth, sighing heavily in annoyance. "No. Be quiet. I want you to listen very carefully, and then you can say whatever you want. Let me speak my piece. This isn't working. Whatever it is you think you're doing. You're going to have a very short reign if you keep this up. Thor, I have tried to be subtle, but short of slapping you over the head with a pan, I have reached my wits end. You need to sleep."

(_No dreams.)_

They're supposed to be talking about Loki. He feels almost tricked.

"I can't." He protests.

"_Why?"_

"I—" he hesitates on the word. _No dreams._ "I have to run the kingdom—"

She leans forward. "Fibbing, Thor. _Stop it."_

She stares.

He stares.

The silence grows. Tight. Uncomfortable. Choking. She waits, stubborn, and the pressure gets worse and worse.

Something in him just...breaks. It's like glass hitting the pavement. Shattering and _loud. _"Because if I sleep then I'll dream, and if I dream then I'll be in a worse state than Loki is now. I _have _tried, but I'll take marginally functional over _insane!"_

Hela's eyes grow dark. "Loki isn't mad."

"I never said that I thought he was—" Thor stops, frustrated. He did say that. But he didn't mean it in that _way. _He exhales in frustration, squeezing his eye shut.

Hela shifts. "Sleep deprivation isn't the answer to this."

"_Then what is!?" _Thor barely keeps from shouting. He tears his eye open. "I can't think, but I can function. Asgard needs me. I'm not allowed to fall apart right now. When will it be my turn? When will _I _get to be the one that's a mess? _When? _Never! Because I'm the king and—"

"And my little brother," Hela snaps. "It is my _duty _to look out for you."

Thor stares at her. "Then where on the Nine _were _you for most of my life?"

She flinches. Thor feels his face drain of color. That was too far. It's always too far. Now she's going to strike him, or take out his other eye, or up and leave, or decide to conquer Midgard, or kill something and—_he doesn't want to be blind._

"I was exactly where our father left me." Hela's tone is flat. She doesn't make a move against him. She's bristling, but she's not attacking. She breathes out, "You _need _a few days where you can just rest. Please, Thor, I can rule as regent for a few days if it will get you to stop."

She can...what?

It's not that bad.

It's really not.

Thor is still going. He's still pushing and getting done everything everyone wants him to. He's not. Whatever it is Hela thinks he's doing. He's fine. Really. Aren't they all? (His smiles hurt. Smiles shouldn't hurt.)

Hela gets him to sleep that night, after more arguing. Thor wakes up, panting, to the taste of blood in his throat and the sensation of his ribcage being snapped. He lays awake for hours, barely breathing, and convinced he's one breath away from choking again.

He kicks off the blankets.

No.

There's a reason he does this as rarely as possible. Next time it will be Loki's dead eyes staring up at him, or Surtur consuming Hela completely, or watching Frigga fall to the floor in a crumpled, bleeding heap over and over and over again. He can't sleep. He won't. He refuses to see those dreams again. _No dreams._

000o000

Life goes on. Thor keeps moving. Pushing. Pulling. He won't stop because when he does he thinks too much. Thinking hurts, but little doesn't now.

A week after Loki's dream, Thor arrives back home to Hela vomiting in the bathroom while Loki stands in the hall, arms crossed over his chest and expression pinched. Thor sighs, resigned, and then shares a look with his brother.

They wait until Hela emerges, looking pale and sickly, but more frustrated than anything else. "I'll talk with Eir," Thor promises, and he and his sibling guide their sister to bed. Hela collapses against the mattress and faces the wall instead of them, silent. Stoic. "We'll find something else."

Hela doesn't say anything.

He has to keep clinging to that hope, because if he lets go, he'll lose himself. Well, lose what's _left._

000o000

Oddly, it's an off-handed comment that changes everything. Thor hadn't been prepared, and he doubted that Tony meant to change so much so simply.

"_So how are things? In New Asgard, was it? You, Grim Reaper and Jingle Bells ready to call for a mutual disownment yet?_" Tony sounds amused on the other end of the phone and Thor can only contain his grimace.

"We're just about there." He admits tiredly. Everything he does is tired now. He feels drunk sometimes, and so very, very dead others. The lingering effects without sleep are bleeding into everything he does now. His voice, his movements, even how he drinks water.

_"Oh. I was joking,"_ Tony sounds a little sheepish. "_Not all fun and games, I see."_

Thor snorts. "Not exactly."

_"I'm guessing that's why you called."_

"_You _called _me, _Tony." Thor reminds him irritably. "I don't want to sound rude, but if this isn't important, I really have work that I need to—"

"_Are you serious?_" Tony almost squawks. "_You're pulling that card? You sound like my dad—_" Tony continues on his tyrant, but the words don't really register after that.

Thor stops. The world almost seems to _fold _as the words strike him, and then settle into a very dark corner of his mind that has pled and pled and _pled _that he be anything but his father since Loki fell. Thor nearly drops the phone. He's becoming just like Odin. He's turning into everything he swore he wouldn't.

His lungs clench inside his chest. He can't breathe, and this time it isn't because he's choking on blood.

"I have to go." Thor whispers, and hangs up the phone before he hears Tony answer. He holds the device in a trembling hand for a long moment, trying to breathe normally and find something funny. To do anything but slowly crumple like pillowing dust. Weeks. Months.

Pushing so much has forced him to focus on survival, and survival alone. Thor hasn't been living. He's been...putting the kingdom before everything else at the _cost _of everything.

Tony calls him again several times, but Thor doesn't answer.

He collapses to his knees and releases the device, moving to shuffle against the wall and hyperventilate. What is he doing? What is he doing? _What is he doing? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT!? _He's tried so hard and become the very thing he sought to avoid. He's...he's…

Crying.

Thor blinks back with surprise when he feels the wet moisture slide down his cheeks. He hastily rubs it away with the back of his hand, but it doesn't help. More tears follow. More and more until he's sobbing. Screaming.

Thor grabs at his hair and yanks. The power in the small room flickers and flares.

He doesn't know how long he sits there before hands wrap around his shoulders and Thor feels himself get pulled against someone. He doesn't care who it is, opting instead to cling to their arms and cry like a lost child. He feels like one. A child wandering out in the woods too late and never made it home again.

A third hand joins the two, and Thor hears a second person shift down next to him.

He cries himself to sleep.

000o000

When he wakes, he stumbles into the living area with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sees his siblings sitting on the couch. Loki is reading and Hela is flipping through some of the reports he should have dealt with days ago. And, from what he can tell, forging his signature with a disturbingly high accuracy.

Both of them look up at him when he enters, but it's wordless.

Thor stands still for a moment before he sits down on Loki's left. Still tired, he slumps against his younger brother and reads the words over Loki's shoulder. He doesn't recognize the writing or the author, just sits in silence for a long time as Loki turns the pages, and Hela illegally does work for him. He should feel worse about that, but he doesn't.

He _wants _her to.

Norns, he's too tired to do it himself today.

Hela gets up and prepares a meal, setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. It isn't anything fancy, sandwiches with salad, but Thor doesn't really care. Hela doesn't immediately leap from the couch to throw up when she bites into it, so Thor considers that a win. In fact, the whole thing seems rather pointed, as if she's trying to show of.

Eir must have stopped by, which is weird, because Thor hasn't been asleep that long, has he?

With the meal settled and Thor slowly losing himself to sleep—_no dreams—_again, he asks, "How long was I asleep?"

"Three days." Loki answers, flipping the page. Thor feels mild surprise, and then it settles into a resigned acceptance. Three days doesn't seem long enough. He's ready to add a forth if he's being honest with himself. "And—amazing feat, Asgard didn't crumple to ash while you were doing so."

The jibe is pointed.

Thor only grunts, then watches Hela scribble his name down. "You know that's illegal, don't you?" he questions. Hela hums in agreement. Thor sighs. Of course she doesn't care.

"You can rest, Thor," Loki says quietly, "we'll still be here when you wake up."

"D'n want to dream," Thor mumbles. Loki lowers the book and Thor can feel him staring. Then he sighs and lifts a hand to pull his index finger across Thor's palm and murmurs something. His hand twitches as a warmth trickles up through it, and then settles in his mind like a slight fog. Thor shudders, wrapping the blanket tighter. "What'd…?"

"It's a dreamless spell." Loki explains.

Oh.

That's—wait.

_Loki just used magic._ A rush of elation washes through him. Loki just—without even seeming to hesitate, he just...did magic. For Thor. As if Thor is more important than whatever fear Loki has of another sedir collapse. Thor wants to make a big fuss about this, demand answers and shout and yell, but his mouth is rather opposed to the idea, and Thor can only slur out a few stumbled syllables.

He's too tired to think.

_Loki used magic. Hela _ate _something._

"Th'nks." He sighs. Loki lifts up his book again, a slight tremor to his hands, and Thor leans heavier against his shoulder as he starts to slip into oblivion. Before he can though, his mouth opens and he mutters, "I didn't thi'k that you'd ever do magic again on _Statesmen. _Still don't understand how. You were…deading." There. He...asked why Loki's doing it now. Sort of. No, not really. But he brought it up.

Hela and Loki both still as if struck. Thor blinks confused and then lifts up his heavy head to look at them both. "You never explained how you got him out."

Hela gives a thin smile. "I think that's a story for another time."

"I want to know."

"You're practically asleep, brother." Hela reminds sharply. "Not now."

_When will it be? You never say. I'm still in the dark and it's been months._

Thor goes quiet. His mind is pulling on sleep and dragging him down, but he plants his feet and _thinks. _Strange gave Hela the Time Stone to even the odds, but he didn't drop them in the same place. So Hela must've...what? Found Thanos first? Maybe she bargained for Loki's life with the Stone. But Loki was already dead by that point, it wouldn't have really…

Oh. But she's not even a sorcerer so—you don't _need _sedir to use it.

_Hela had the Time Stone._

Thor blinks, trying to focus. "You found Loki, but when you did, you used the Stone on him to heal him, didn't you? To before...everything." But that's a long time to go through, years, and how would she know when to stop? And why wouldn't they have just _told _him?

Loki's hands are going white around the edges of the book.

"No." Hela says softly, "But I wish I had."

"Then…?"

"In their basic state, all Stones are an energy source, Thor," Loki's voice is tight. "She used that to jumpstart me, for lack of a better phrasing. Thanos had all but killed me when he took the Space Stone. He used a different Stone to take it, which kept me alive long enough for Hela to get there. Sedir is energy. The two sources merged and..." Loki's lips press together. Thor guesses. Pain. The two wouldn't have meshed well and..._oh. _That is much worse than just using the Time Stone. "Thanos destroyed me with one Stone, and Hela revived me with another. It's an ironic circle, is it not?"

No.

Thor's lips twist into a frown. "Loki…"

"Don't." Loki snaps, hefting the volume up higher. "I don't want to talk about it. I won't. Just go to sleep Thor."

"But I—"

Loki whispers something under his breath and Thor feels the rush of sedir before he slumps. _Cheater._

Later, Loki admits to him that it _was _the first time he'd used magic since the tea. Thor had been quietly humbled as Loki had grit his jaw and looked away from him, saying that he had "used it for you, because you needed me too," as if that was that. Thor had given his hand a squeeze and thanked him, because Norns it's such a relief to have dreamless nights.

Loki starts to use sedir a little more after that. Hesitantly, like dipping a toe inside of cold water before trying to emerge the foot.

Thor also learns that Eir thinks she's found something that will work. Hela hasn't thrown up in nearly two days. It's strange that he's so happy about that.

000o000

Thor takes the next week off. It's weird to sit around and do nothing, anxiety claiming that he must be moving at all times or else he's wasting his time as a lazy crass. But Thor thoroughly enjoys the freedom of being able to stare at the same speck on the wall for four hours and have no judgement cast down upon him. If he wants to look at the chipped wood, he has all the freedom in the world.

The week doesn't last, unfortunately, but it's enough to calm his frayed nerves. He delegates. He tries to shift the responsibilities around as much as he can so he's not being crushed by it, and it helps. Somewhat. Thor still can't sleep, but at least now he has the _option _of doing so.

More often than not he finds himself in the living room, counting the cracks on the ceiling as he waits for dawn to approach. Sometimes one of his siblings will join him, Loki more often than their sister.

"I'm not okay," Loki admits to him during one of these. The long hours have waned, and both of them have begun to whisper into the dark. They're side-by-side on the floor, thinking.

"Neither am I." Thor says softly. It feels good to say it. To shove off the unbreakable king persona and just be...Thor. Loki breathes steadily, and Thor mimics him.

"I keep seeing it happen, over and over. I thought...I was getting better. With the dreams. I didn't have them as often before Ragnarok." Loki says.

"I can't stand the taste of blood. Or the smell. I was drowning in it." Thor admits.

"I wanted to be brave, but I cried when I saw him again. Thanos."

"I thought that Hela was going to die that day. Or everyone. The snapping sound haunts me."

"I'm afraid of the shadows. I don't want to be left alone to suffocate again."

"His grin is seared into my memory. I can't believe how _satisfied _he was to kill so many innocents."

"I'm afraid of dreaming."

On and on they go. They don't talk about what was said, or laugh at each other later. There will be days in the future when they will bring up these events purely to antagonize, but there is a solemn understanding of these few hours. They won't talk about it. They won't need to.

000o000

The sun is slowly setting in the distance. Thor is sitting on the roof with his siblings on either side, looking out at the bustling people beneath them. Thor feels...content. Maybe not quite happy, but he's getting there. He will be on it, some day.

"They never look up." Hela remarks, leaning her head on her hand as she surveys the land. "We could be assassins for all they know."

"Right." Loki sounds exasperated. "Because that's a problem New Asgard is struggling with."

Thor watches a young girl weave flowers into her brother's hair and a couple reunite after a long day. There's people moving, and the world is still awake. Alive. Safe.

"It's basic safety to be aware of your surroundings." Hela protests. "All they're doing is...ugh, are they _kissing?"_

Thor laughs. "Not a romantic, I take it?"

"My one romantic stint was when I was a youth and a visiting prince punched me in the face." Hela answers blandly. Thor and Loki stare at her, and she glances at them. "What? It was war. He could have stabbed me instead."

"Because _that's _better." Thor grumbles.

Hela shoves him off the roof.

000o000

That night, Loki uses sedir to clean up the mess on the table. Hela eats something without vomiting, and they crowd around Thor's phone to watch a rented movie Tony recommended. It's awful, but they laugh and sneer and Thor hasn't felt this happy or relaxed in a long, long time.

He smiles, and it doesn't hurt. It feels normal. Natural. Relaxed. And Thor realizes that _he _feels better. They all do. There wasn't some grand conversation where they decided they were going to get better, and that would be that. It just...happened. As if the darkness that has followed them needed to be balanced with light. As if that's just the normal order of things.

He isn't going to complain. He likes these smiles that don't make him ache.

That night, he sleeps.

And he doesn't dream.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/galaxythreads)


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